Official Fanfiction University of the Caribbean
by SirenoftheStorm
Summary: Classes on nautical terms and language, pirates and piracy, characterization, and historical accuracy will be taught by the characters themselves. Loosely based off Camilla Sandman's OFUM.
1. Prologue: Three Choices

VARIOUS DISCLAIMERS: Credit for the original fanfiction university that inspired this spinoff goes to Camilla Sandman (also known as Miss Cam, creator of the legendary OFUM) and all her loyal followers. Disney owns PotC and all the characters therein. All future students of the University (except Abigail, who is mine) belong to themselves or to their creators and will be used only by specific request.

* * *

"And the ocean waves around the ship glowed and rippled like prisms of fiery silk, reflecting the sunset's light onto the two lone figures standing on the bullwarks of the ship their dark sillhouettes against the brilliant sky. He knew that his wild heart would no longer yearn for completion, for he had found his Hawk, the beloved, chestnut-haired beauty in his arms. She looks up at him as if sensing his thought and their eyes meet, gazing deep into each other's souls as the Black Pearl drifts dreamily towards the horizon, towards new and uncharted waters and the promise of a hope reborn."

Abigail sighed, sniffled, and wiped the sentimental tears from her eyes as she completed the final chapter of her greatest work yet. She could barely wait to post it. The Sparrow and the Hawk, "a story of tragedy, beauty, and two hearts destined to beat as one." She could already imagine the clever, unconventional plot of its sequel, in which Jack Sparrow and Arielle Hawk's teenage daughter, Raven, battled the reincarnated foes of her parents with Will and Elizabeth's son by her side. Abby quickly went to the other room to grab a box of tissues and had just finished blowing her nose when she heard a violent burst of silence. All the tiny, unnoticed sounds- the ambient hum of the air conditioner, the ceiling fan, and the city outside- went dead for a long moment, then resumed their chorus as if nothing had happened. But unlike a power outage, the lights didn't even flicker. And, despite the fact that it shouldn't have been possible to tell what direction a _lack_ of sound came from, the silence had definitely come from her bedroom.

Uncertainly, she walked back down the hall and peeked around the doorway. A severe-looking young woman was seated in Abby's computer chair, reading the paragraphs that filled the word processor's window. She looked calmly up at Abby, who was staring openmouthed.

"Before you ask, no I'm not a burglar, a ghost, or a drug-induced hallucination. I'm a critic. My name is Siren. And you are under arrest for flawed grammar, unrealistic characterization, gross ignorance of historical and nautical facts, and the creation of a Mary-Sue. Various other things as well, but those are the main offenses."

"How did you get in my room?" Abby demanded. Her uninvited guest ignored her, continuing her speech as if she had never been interrupted.

"So you have three choices. One is to cease writing fanfiction and the second is to legally obtain your license from the Official Fanfiction University of the Carribean."

"A-and the third?"

"The third? Oh. Death. Ideally it would be long and painful death, but it really depends on how hungry the Kraken is at the time. When he hasn't been fed for a while he tends to gobble down his food in one bite." Siren looked back at the computer screen and then gave an amused snort. "Incidentally, you should probably know that it's impossible to stand ON the bullwarks of a moving ship without immediately falling off. They're part of the _sides _of the ship, genius. And these mixed metaphors and run-on sentences... really, I don't know whether to laugh or cry. So what's your decision?"

"You're not real," Abby said, stating the one thing she was sure of at the moment. Sarcastic women did not appear out of thin air and threaten to feed you to sea monsters. This particularly did not happen to people like her. This especially did not happen in Northern Colorado. The nearest ocean was over a thousand miles away. That Kraken would have a bloody long walk ahead of it if it planned to eat anyone or anything living around here.

The young woman let out an exasperated breath, walked to where Abby stood in the doorway, and slapped her hard across the face several times.

"Ow! Hey! Oww! Fine! Okay, you're real. I give in. You're real. But you can't stop me from writing fanfics! They're my own original work and I do NOT create Mary Sues!"

"If they were all that _original¸_ or if you had bothered to put any _work _into learning about your subject, we would not be having this conversation. I'll make this simple. Choice one: stop writing. Choice two: fill out this form. Choice three: face the wrath of the creature that lurks beneath the waves." She ticked off the points on her fingers, then produced an official looking form, which she handed to the bewildered fangirl. "Considering your sheer obsession with the characters, I'd say the university's your best bet unless you really think you can _stop_ writing PotC fics. If you're able to learn, obey orders, and keep your mouth shut, you might just make it to graduation in one piece. Good luck."

There was another jarring moment of silence, and then she was alone in the room, staring at the papers in her hands. Slowly, she sat down, placed them on her desk, and filled them out, figuring that since none of this could be happening anyway, she might as well go along with it. The form was several pages long, and the last two and a half were in fine print and seemed to involve a lot of waivers denying the University's responsibility if she were to drown, get lost at sea, fall under an eternal curse, go insane, or be "slaughtered for grammatical reasons." As she dotted the final "i" in her signature, the thought crossed her mind that the wind on her face was oddly salt-smelling.

_Wait…wind??..._ she wondered desperately, and then unconsciousness slipped over her like a shroud and she slept.

* * *

To apply as a student to the Official Fanfiction University of the Carribean, fill out the form on the following page and send it to Please put "fanfiction university," "PotC," or something like that in the title so it doesn't get mistaken for junk mail.


	2. Ch1: Object Lessons and Introductions

VARIOUS DISCLAIMERS: Credit for the original fanfiction university that inspired this spinoff goes to Camilla Sandman (also known as Miss Cam, creator of the legendary OFUM) and all her loyal followers. Disney owns PotC and all the characters therein. All students of the University (except Abigail and Cate ScarlettRose Cassandralorianna Morgan, who will be your Official Mary Sue Object Lesson for the semester) belong to themselves or to their creators and are used only by specific request.

* * *

Abby awoke lying on her face on a slightly damp wood surface that was rocking beneath her, and lifted her head up to look around. She was surrounded by bodies, all apparently just waking up from painful unconsciousness, and then she got a better look at the ship and gasped, jumping to her feet and looking around her in awe. 

She was on the Black Pearl! Her eyes drank up every detail of the ship, just as she remembered it in the movies. There were several men doing something nautical-looking involving pulling ropes on the upper deck. A few more were standing in a cluster on the deck and sniggering at her and the other girls and young women. With them was the woman- Siren, was that what she had called herself?—who had appeared in her room last night during what Abby suddenly realized must not have been a dream after all. She glanced at her fellow abductees and saw an interesting assortment of expressions on their faces: confusion, excitement, horror, bliss, and nausea. Most of them were dressed similarly to herself- jeans and T-shirts- though there was a young woman in a long-skirted, old-fashioned dress darting suspicious glances around her and something that looked like an angular 50's sci-fi robot wearing a bustier, red brocade breeches, and leather boots, its long black hair shimmering in the sun. She rubbed her eyes and looked again, then turned to the girl beside her, Kat, who was running a hand through her short, dirty-blonde hair as she gazed around the ship in alarm.

"Please tell me you see that too."

"Huh? Oh, hi. I take it you mean Dominatrix Robot over there?"

"Um. Yeah. What the heck?"

"Not sure. Are we really on the Black Pearl?"

"Looks like it," piped up Nina, a somewhat younger brunette. "I'm beginning to think filling out that form was a bad idea."

"You filled out the form too?" Abby, Kat, and three other girls asked in unison.

"Form?" asked the woman in the dress, looking at them as if they were all crazy people- which in fact the majority of them probably were. The robot sat up weakly, pressing the back of one hand to its forehead in a gesture more suited to a delicate young woman than to a miniature version of the Iron Giant.

"Where am I?" it said in a faint, trembling female voice.

Siren strode up. "Everyone awake? Good. You writers know where you are and why, I assume, but I'll need to explain things for Sarah and Cate." The robot and the woman in the long dress looked at her, nodding. "You two are characters in Pirates of the Carribean fanfics who have been submitted to this university by your creators. You're here to learn what it's _really_ like to live in your native time period and surroundings so that you can more accurately exist and carry out your roles in PotC fanfiction. Th—" she was interrupted by a piercing scream from the robot when it glanced down at its own body.

"I'm made of _metal! _And I'm so… pointy and rectangular and huge and my clothes don't _fit_ right!" Siren made a visible effort not to laugh.

"Ah, yes. About that. Your creator, in the story you star in, well, she described you as having 'pail skin', which seems to have manifested as skin made of the same material that pails are traditionally made of, i.e. metal. The ridiculous clothes are what she described you to be wearing, and as for the pointiness, I can only assume that it was caused by the fact that you looked 'like an angle' which happens to be the definition of the word 'angular,' though 'angelic' was more likely what she had in mind. Pity. You serve as a wonderful object lesson though. Girls, Cate here is living evidence that running your story through spell check is _not_ a foolproof process. Now…"

Suddenly everyone's attention was completely derailed as Jack Sparrow and Will Turner climbed from the hatch and walked towards them. One of the girls began fanning herself. Abby felt her jaw drop.

They did not look quite like Johnny Depp and Orlando Bloom in costume, as she would have expected. Instead, they looked exactly like their characters in the movie… only in some weird way, _more_ so. There was still a vague resemblance to the actors, from some angles, but they were mostly just... themselves. The effect was a dizzy cross between surreal and mouth-watering.

"I take it ye're the ones we're supposed to be trainin' in the pirate life?" the Captain asked rhetorically, surveying the small group with some amusement. "I've never seen so many lasses dressed up in men's britches in me life. I take it our Anamaria started a fashion?" he paused thoughtfully, then gave an elaborate shrug and gestured grandly at the ship. "Well this, mates, is the Black Pearl, and I, of course, am Captain Jack Sparrow." He bowed with a mischievous grin and indicated his companion. "This here is Will Turner. 'is father was a pirate. Good lad. Eunuch."

"For the hundredth time, Jack, I am _not_ a eunuch!" Will snapped, turning slightly red. "Erm. Welcome to the ship, ladies. Will Turner, blacksmith, pirate, and _not a eunuch in any way_, at your service."

"You know," said one of the girls thoughtfully, "You could quite easily prove that to us, and then no one would ever call you a eunuch again." There was a murmur of agreement from the Will lusters in the group.

"Am I to assume you're asking me to - No! Absolutely not! I have a fiancee! And besides, you're… you're all…" Will turned a deeper red and faltered, looking indignant.

"Is that a suit of plate armor over there?" interrupted the former admiral Norrington, who had exited the hatch quietly while they were staring at the other two. Will looked relieved at the change of subject. "Or a metal person? What's it doing here and when can I get back to my own ship and crew?"

"I can have a metal person on me ship if I bloody want to, Norrington!" Jack said defiantly, then paused. "It's here because…. well, because… ah… Siren, why _do_ I have a metal person on me ship?"

"Jack, don't you recognize me?" the pail-skinned young woman asked plaintively, taking a clumsy step forward with her long hair tangling in the wind. "It's me, Cate Scarlett-Rose Cassandralorianna Morgan, your childhood friend, adolescent love interest, and the one regret of your life. Surely you know me?"

"First of all, it's Captain, _Captain_ Jack Sparrow, lass, and ye'd be wise to remember that. And I've never heard of a Cate Cassandra-whassamacallit Morgan in me life. All that is really yer name?"

"Yes."

Jack tilted his head slightly to the side and gave her a bewildered look. "But…_ why?"_

Siren snickered and Norrington looked utterly lost.

"That's what my parents named me before they died and I was sent to the orphanage," the metallic girl said stubbornly, chin held high. "But you will find that I am not so eager to share my secret hopes and dreams with you now! I hate all pirates! I will not give in to your seduction!"

"Seduction?" Norrington asked, looking incredulously at the pail maiden. "You tried to seduce _that?"_

"Nah, I think she's a bit touched in the head," Jack replied. "Looks more like your type than mine. I say ye should go for it. 'Help ye get over losing Lizzie and all."

"Sparrow, I am a decent man and do not regret my actions in regard to Miss Swann. It was the honorable thing to do, not at all like a certain someone _kissing _her while she was engaged to another man. And I am only putting up with your company because we share a common purpose. The moment I have my former title returned to me, our truce ends and I tolerate your insolence no longer."

"I did not kiss her! She kissed me!" Jack argued, waving his hands emphatically and backing away from Will, who had shot him a dark look.

"Enough, enough, all of you!" Siren cut them off, stepping between the two. "We still have a student to collect, a fanfic character named Angel who according to her info, was kept as a slave for two years on a pirate ship before being rescued by the Black Pearl."

"What, a _woman?_ Kept on a pirate ship for two _years?_" Jack asked incredulously.

"Apparently. Don't ask me. Maybe they couldn't sell her or something. Anyway, according to my information, they're currently docked at Port Royal, which is where we're going anyway. So we might as well rescue the kid."

"If we're going back to Port Royal, why was I included in this?" Norrington asked dryly. "I would have _been_ at Port Royal if you hadn't dragged me off."

"Yes, but you, Will, and Gibbs were the only three people I could trust to provide reliable adult supervision besides myself, and I have to be there for the rescue to explain things to our new student. Gibbs will be busy on the ship, and Will will be out there fighting. Meanwhile, we have a handful of inexperienced teenagers without weapons here. I need _some_one to keep them out of the battle. Besides, you can use it as an example to educate them on the evils of piracy."

"You brought me along to _babysit?"_

"No, I brought you along to fangirl-sit. The difference being that you may have to _literally_ sit onthem to keep them from rushing out into the fray to prove their bravery and loyalty to the crew. It's more like being volunteered to handle rabid wild animals than it is babysitting."

"And I'm supposed to find this comforting?"

"No, I'm afraid not."

"Hey. Excuse me?" One of the students raised her hand, grinning insanely as she did so.

"Yes, Holiday Faerie?"

"If the Middle-Earth Fanfiction university that this is based on was O-F-U-M, then is the Official Fanfiction University of the Carribean O-F-U-C?"

"Yes, though we generally don't refer to it as that, because of the way sounds if read as a word."

"You mean because it sounds like you're saying oh fuc-"

_"Land ho!"_ The call from the crow's nest conveniently interrupted the profanity, keeping the story at a PG-13 rating.

Immediately the students scampered over to the foredeck of the ship to squint at the vague bit of land that had just become visible over the horizon.

"Is that really Port Royal?" Kelsey asked the quartermaster, who replied in the affirmative. "WOOHOO! We're really here!!!" she cried, bouncing up and down. Nina, Kat, and Koneka Naomi joined her in cheering as Becca and Sarah were promptly sick over the sides of the boat.

Siren gave them a diabolical smirk and walked away humming a sea chantey, imagining what other amusements the semester would bring.

* * *

Since there's only a handful of students so far, applications are still eagerly accepted. _I need more students!_ How I wish I could _really_ arrest people and bring them here- the ship would be full by now if I could- but that's harrassment, which is against site policy. :-( 

To apply, all you have to do is fill out the form in the previous chapter and send it to me at ethersflameatyahoodotcom. Please put "fanfiction university," "PotC," or something like that in the title so it doesn't get mistaken for junk mail.


	3. Ch2: Chaos and the Incredible Mr Limpet

VARIOUS DISCLAIMERS: Credit for the original fanfiction university that inspired this spinoff goes to Camilla Sandman (creator of the official fanfiction university of middle earth) and all her loyal followers. Disney owns PotC and all the characters in it. All students of the University belong to themselves or to their creators and are used only by specific request.

Students who joined after the previous chapter was posted are being treated as if they'd been there all along, so don't be confused when four new names pop up. However, admission is closed as of now; no more students are being accepted. If you want to be involved in the university but didn't apply in time, you're still invited to post on the OFUC forum with questions, comments, criticisms, and suggestions. (To find the forum, go to my profile and click where it says "My Forums" underneath my pen name and contact link. I'd link directly to the forum here, but the link disappears whenever I try, so... yeah.)

* * *

"Now, what are we allowed to do?" Siren asked the group of distracted young women gazing longingly at the city of Port Royal, impatient to be let off the ship so they could explore. 

"Walk through the city, explore the docks, visit the blacksmith's, and shop with our share of the plunder," the students mumbled, more or less in unison. The pirate ship that the Black Pearl's crew had rescued Angel from had held a surprisingly large cargo of ill-gotten valuables, and Jack had decided the students, as almost-but-not-really-crew-members, deserved a half-share of it each.

"And what are we _not_ allowed to do?"

"Get into trouble, start fights, set foot on any ship but the Pearl or the Dauntless, or go off alone," they chorused, all of them planning to do at least one of those things if the opportunity presented itself.

"And where do we meet in three hours?"

"The governor's mansion."

"All right, go on then. Have fun. Don't get killed and be at the mansion at two o'clock, okay?" The gangplank was lowered and the students practically stampeded out, ready to explore the city. Siren stopped Angel, who was painfully thin and covered in bruises from two long years of nautical enslavement angst, and slipped her a couple extra coins. "And you, eat something for godssake."

The students divided into clusters as they left the ship,Tierza, Summer, and Kelsey setting out on what they referred to as a Sacred Quest for Chocolate while Kat, Linsey, and the unfortunate Cate wandered off to buy a bottle of rum for Jack in hopes of winning his affection. Angel and Sarah, who had found they had quite a bit in common, had headed to a pub to eat, drink, and compare notes on being orphaned fanfiction characters trapped in servile positions. Everyone else just wanted to explore the docks and market... at least, so they claimed.

It was 2:45 when the last three stragglers arrived at the governor's mansion, soaking wet and looking extremely proud of themselves, followed by a snickering Anamaria.

"What happened?" Elizabeth asked the other woman as she entered the drawing room with the latecomers in tow.

"We commandeered our first vessel," Grace announced proudly, dripping seawater on the carpet.

"And it sank?" asked Koneka Naomi, raising an eyebrow at their waterlogged state.

"No, there were… complications. The, um, occupants of the craft resisted being boarded." Her tone became somewhat evasive.

"It was a fisherman's canoe," Anamaria elaborated, grinning. "Half-filled wit' tuna. Some of the fish was still alive; they put up a resistance." The students, who had until then been looking envious at not being involved in the incident, burst out laughing.

"A tuna bit me," Nina muttered resentfully, wringing the water out of her sleeves.

"They all fell out o' the boat. Da fisherman helped me pull them out o' the water and gave them a fish. He said he has not laughed so hard in a long time."

Becca held up the large tuna that she was carrying, a wet strand of her hair falling in her mouth. "His name is The Incredible Mr. Limpet."

"The _fisherman?"_ Elizabeth asked.

"No, the fish. I named him."

"You're consorting with the enemy," Nina told Becca, giving the Incredible Mr. Limpet a dire look.

"I am not consorting with him. He's a dead fish. Look, at dinner we can cook him up and then you can bite him back. Will that make you feel better?"

"Much," was the vehement reply.

"Limpets, they are not even fishes, you know," Anamaria commented as she was leaving the room, nodding courteously to the Governor and Elizabeth. "They live in shells. Good afternoon, Governor. Elizabeth."

"You missed the tour of the mansion," said Governor Swann, who was sitting in an armchair watching the new arrivals with bemused interest, "but one of the servants can show you where the kitchen is so you can give, ah… Mr. Limpet there to the cook. You'll be eating here tonight, so you needn't worry about preparing him yourself."

"Are you going to be teaching any classes?" Linsey asked him.

"I'll be teaching you a bit of the history of Port Royal tomorrow. Meanwhile, you have the afternoon in the mansion with Elizabeth, who will be teaching you the decorum expected from a gently raised young lady, and explaining the delicate matters of what Miss Siren keeps referring to as '18th century clothing.'"

"Yes, why don't we go do that, now that everyone's here?" Elizabeth suggested, supressing an expression of extreme distaste at the subject matter. "My quarters are upstairs, if you'll all just follow me." Becca handed The Incredible Mr. Limpet to a random servant, mouthed the word "kitchen", and followed the group, leaving a slightly confused maid to take the deceased creature to the cook.

"They weren't in the tour," Kelsey commented as they climbed up a flight of stairs.

Elizabeth laughed, "Of course not. It would be entirely improper to include a lady's private sleeping quarters in a tour of the mansion. Some ill-mannered rake might take it into his head to pay her a midnight visit."

"Like Jack Sparrow?" Summer asked, eyes glittering.

"Like _Captain_ Jack Sparrow," Elizabeth corrected automatically, "And yes, he'd probably do something like that if he thought he could get away with it. And he generally thinks he can get away with anything… and he generally does." She smiled slightly, remembering some of his various escapades.

"Is that why you kissed him?" asked Angel, who had been brought up to date on the events of the movies.

"Why I kissed him has_ nothing_ to do with anything we've been talking about," was the response in a sharp voice. "It's completely irrelevant. My rooms are here." She opened a door and led them into her bedchamber. "Now I don't have chairs enough for all of you, so just sit on the bed. Well. Except for you three-" she indicated Nina, Grace, and Becca, who were still far from dry- "who can sit on, hmm. The two chairs over there and this chest, I suppose" They did so, and Elizabeth watched them, one eyebrow raised.

"Right. Now get up, watch what I do, and try to do the same." She walked to the bed and sat down gracefully, legs together, back held straight, folding her hands in her lap, her skirts settling in smooth folds as she did so. "This is how a lady sits down, at least when in public. _This," _she got up, changed her posture slightly and sat down more heavily, letting her legs relax a bit more, her left hand making a brushing motion at her hip, "is how a man sits."

"What was that you were doing with your hand?" Tierza interrupted.

"I was moving my sword out of the way. A man wears his sword belt on his left side, if he wears one at all. Many men don't, at least not normally. For instance, a man generally doesn't walk into a pub wearing one, not unless he's a soldier or the type of man who has valuables on him to protect. A pirate _will_ probably be wearing a sword, however, unless he's working alongside the crew. In any case, Sarah, would you sit for us please? Like yourself, if you don't mind." Sarah blushed slightly and did so. Her movement was not quite as graceful or contrived as Elizabeth's, her arms were relaxed at her sides and she sat slightly toward the edge of the bed, as if ready to jump up at sudden notice.

"That's how a working-class woman generally sits. Sorry, Sarah, I mean no insult by using you as a demonstration. But I've grown up with maids around me all my life and you do carry yourself like one," Elizabeth added, shooting the young woman an apologetic smile.

"That's all right. I was one. I might still be one for all I know." Sarah shrugged philosophically. Elizabeth shrugged back and continued the lesson.

"Now. _This_ is how you girls sit." She performed an exaggeratedly boneless flop onto the bed, sprawling her legs and slouching. "Ouch. There is a reason women wearing corsets don't do that- it hurts. If you were going to be _wearing_ corsets, you'd learn that very quickly, but you won't be- even the easiest jobs on a ship are hard to do when your lungs are being crushed in a vise. Though apparently it _is _possible; you should ask Jack about Singapore sometime. It's hilarious, and I could never do the story justice trying to repeat it. Anyway, I'm supposed to be showing you clothes." She shooed Grace off the chest she'd been sitting on and opened it, pulling out the long-sleeved white garment she had worn to bed in the movie.

"Can anyone tell me what this is?" she asked, holding it up.

"A nightgown," everyone but Sarah and Angel responded instantly. Angel gave a vague sort of shrug, but Sarah wrinkled her brow, shaking her head slightly.

"Nooo, that's a chemise. It looks nothing at all like a nightgown."

Elizabeth nodded. "Exactly. _This_ is a nightgown." She pulled a long, loose, simple coat out of the chest and held it up for their examination. "It's worn around the house only, but not worn to bed. You _sleep_ in a chemise or possibly a shift. And when you get up from bed, what do you put on? Not Sarah, someone else this time."

"Your clothes?" ventured Cate.

"A robe," argued Koneka Naomi, remembering the movie.

"No and no. You put on a morning gown, which looks like this." Elizabeth pulled from the chest something that looked a bit like a robe and a bit like a gown. "This is worn before formally dressing in the morning. Or sometimes, if you get up at night, you might wear a bedgown or a night rail." She held up the robe she'd worn in the movie, which was apparently called a bedgown, and the 'night rail,' a long cloak-looking thing, and when they had looked at them for a moment, tossed it onto the growing pile of clothes on the floor at her feet, taking from the chest something that resembled a lacy white negligee.

"What's this?"

"A shift," guessed Abby, who'd read far too many historical romance novels not to recognize a shift when she saw it.

"Very good. It's what you wear under everything else. Some women might wear them to bed under or in place of a chemise. It depends. Over this goes a corset. There are several kinds, and not all of them are as restrictive as others. Some are laced much more loosely, while some have whalebones sewn into them in order to give them an absolutely inflexible shape and a feeling of being stabbed in the ribs every time you take a breath. The purpose of a corset is to lift and emphasize the bosom and to narrow the waist, for an hourglass-shaped figure. Before fashion demanded corsets, it was acceptable to wear stays, which support and shape your figure without bones or hundreds of tiny fasteners- they're basically a bodice made of stiff cloth, laced up. Not every class of women wears a corset, but if they are _not_ wearing a corset, any woman, even a prostitute, wears stays under their clothing. Now, this is a polonaise," she explained, holding up a gown, "and it is pinned up and draped into three bunches called swags. You might know it as a…" she hesitated, trying to remember the term, "Princess dress? The skirt underneath is called a petticoat, which should be long enough to cover the shoes when you're standing still. Siren told me that some of you are under the illusion that a petticoat is underwear- it isn't. At least not nowadays. She showed me some of the future clothing you all wear too. In shiny paper booklets with real-looking pictures and funny print. There was even one for undergarments, with very immodest women wearing bits of lace with straps on them. Jack stole that one. For days he was trying to convince Siren that the women from the catalog ought to attend the University."

"He wants the Victoria's Secret girls?" Grace managed to get out before she and the others from the 21st century dissolved into hysterical laughter. Angel and Cate looked intrigued at these new ideas for winning Jack's attention, while Sarah looked slightly shocked at the concept.

"She did check for him, but none of them had ever written pirate fanfiction," Elizabeth finished, smiling. "Anyway, next. Coats. This is a cardinal," She opened her closet and pulled out a knee-length red coat, "and this," she grabbed another and held it up for comparison, "is a caraco. They're both lady's coats." The caraco was only about thigh-length and dark brown in color. "A cardinal is red, thus its name; a caraco can be various different colors, depending on the fashion and the materials available. Men generally wear a coat or a cloak. If they're riding, hunting, or playing some other sport, they wear a frock, which is a long, casual coat, and of course, men in the navy wear uniforms specific to their rank. On formal occasions they'll wear a dress coat, under which they wear a shirt and a waistcoat, which is this." She held up something that looked like a button-down vest. "If it's raining, a man will wear a great coat, which is large and loose and has long collars that make something like a cape for shedding rain. In bad weather, sailors and pirates might wear cloaks of leather or tarpaulins to keep off the rain."

"I thought tarp was made of plastic?" Holiday Faerie inquired. "You don't have plastic in the 18th century, do you?"

"Tarpaulin? It's canvas coated in tar. Casts off water and smells simply awful. Are we talking about the same thing?" Elizabeth looked slightly lost at the mention of plastic.

"Same type of thing, different way of making it," was the answering reassurance.

"Right. Now, men wore breeches, which are knee-length, but the English did occasionally wear trousers, which fall only a few inches past the knee. It's not at all common outside England, and no one wears trousers as long as the ones you girls have on." She gestured to their jeans.

"And of course, along with whatever else they have on, men wear white shirts just about all the time." As she said this, a maid cleared her throat softly in the doorway.

"Yes, Estrella?" Elizabeth asked, turning.

"Supper is ready, Miss," the woman said, and then looked up and her eyes took in the pile of clothing that now covered most of the floor with mild horror. "And, Miss, your clothing seems to have escaped and eaten the carpet. With your permission, I'll call a few of the girls up here with a shovel and rake to tidy the place up." Elizabeth rolled her eyes and the students laughed, several of them thinking of their mothers back home.

To their delight, not only James Norrington joined them for dinner, but Will Turner arrived as well. A small fight broke out among the students over who got to sit next to who, with Sarah winning the spot next to Will by coming up to him and shyly requesting it while the other two contenders for the seat resorted to physical violence and eventually had to be separated by the butler. The food turned out to be quite good—Carribean-influenced sauces and Spanish touches livened up the mainly English dishes. Becca's creatively-named tuna was served seasoned and baked on a bed of greens, and was unanimously agreed to be delicious.

"Enjoy the food while you can," Norrington advised them at one point, gesturing at the roast chicken and baked beans with a forkful of fish and somehow managing to do so politely. "Next week when you're sailing to Tortuga, you will find ships' rations a very unpleasant surprise."

"Elizabeth seemed to get pretty good food on the Black Pearl, in the movie," Summer argued.

"An illusion," Elizabeth told her with a wry grimace. "Part of the magic of the ship. The only part of that meal that would ever actually be eaten at sea was the bread and the apple."

"I like apples," argued Kelsey.

"So do I. But you don't even want to know what's left to eat when the fresh food runs out," Norrington responded, then corrected himself. "Actually, on second thought, you ladies will probably be fine on the voyage to Tortuga. It's later, on the longer voyages, that you'll really suffer. Oh, and speaking of suffering, you'll be staying at an inn by the docks tonight. You have my sympathies."

"That bad?" Abby asked with trepidation. The servant who was pouring more tea into her cup gave her a pitying smile.

"Oh yes," the older woman said under her breath, so as not to get in trouble by disturbing the conversation of her employers. "But from what I've heard, pirate ships make the inns look simply luxurious. Can't understand why you girls are so keen to be pirates."

Abby sighed and took a defiant bite of chicken. It would be worth it. It had to be.

* * *

AN: Thanks so much to BadLilBirdie for correcting my mention of 16th century. PotC takes place in the **1700's**,but for some reason my brain subtracted one instead of adding one and I ended up with "16th" instead of "18th," which is of course the proper term for the 1700's. 18th. 18th, 18th, 18th! Thankfully, the mistake was made while I was typing it, not while I was researching it, so the other information in the chapter should be correct. _- Siren_


	4. The Bedbugs Bite and The Monkey's Drunk

VARIOUS DISCLAIMERS: Credit for the original fanfiction university that inspired this spinoff goes to Camilla Sandman (creator of the official fanfiction university of middle earth) and all her loyal followers. Disney owns PotC and all the characters in it. All students of the University belong to themselves or to their creators and are used only by specific request.

Student admission is closed; no more students are being accepted. If you want to be involved in the university but didn't get to apply, you're still invited to post on the OFUC forum with questions, comments, corrections, requests, rants, and suggestions. (To find the forum, go to my profile and click where it says "My Forums" underneath my pen name and contact link. I'd link directly to the forum here, but the link disappears whenever I try.)

_

* * *

Nite-nite, sleep tight, Don't let the bedbugs bite._

Until last night, Abby had thought it was a quaint, cutesy little saying. But now she found herself cursing whoever had come up with it. Because as stingy as the inn had been in regards to pillows and extra blankets, no one could accuse them of skimping on the native wildlife. The hard mattress was infested with bedbugs, fleas, ticks, mites, and god only knew what else. They had been crawling and hopping on her, nibbling at her skin and getting drunk on her blood all night. She spent more time tossing, turning, cursing, and swatting than she did sleeping. To make it worse, they'd been sleeping two to a cot, and she'd shared with Cate, which by her calculations caused her to be bitten twice as much as everyone else had. The pail-skinned girl had slept solidly through the night, of course, the metallic shell of her skin causing the pests from her side of the bed to migrate to the other side of the mattress in search of softer, warmer prey.

_Don't let the bedbugs bite._

And how the hell was one expected to stop the darned things from biting? They were everywhere! She dragged herself out of bed, her lips curving upward slightly at a momentary fantasy of incinerating the bug-infested mattress with a flamethrower, then with some effort forced herself to continue smiling. Today would be a good day. She was in Port Royal and she was going to become a pirate! Or at least, she corrected herself, a very well-educated fanfiction writer who had fought alongside pirates. She resolved to herself that the heroine of her as-yet-unwritten sequel would never, EVER stay at an inn. If any of her characters ever woke in the night with something nibbling at their heated flesh, it sure as hell wouldn't be five millimeters long and live inside the mattress.

Clothes, where were her clothes? Oh, wait. Already wearing them. Shoes. She crossed the room to where she'd tossed them last night and picked one up, wondered why it seemed a bit too heavy, when a mouse poked its head out curiously, causing her to drop it with a bloodcurdling shriek. Abby backed away quickly as it scurried out of its comfy new home and into a small hole in the wall. The backs of her knees hit the cot and she sat down heavily, burying her head in her hands and shuddering in disgust. Cate sat up sleepily beside her, giving her the blank, slightly aggrieved look of one who has been woken up far too early for no good reason. She heard groans and curses from the rooms on either side of her, a muffled complaint from the floor beneath, and footsteps pounding down the stairs. A moment later, there was a banging on her door and she walked over and unlatched it to see Tierza and Kat, holding drawn swords and looking ready to attack.

"There was a mouse in my shoe," Abby explained, feeling a bit of an idiot.

"Damn. We'd been hoping there was an ambush or something. There's weapons for everyone! We all have our own swords!" Kat told her with a dramatic flourish of the blade that made Abby jump back slightly.

"Coffee?" she asked pleadingly, holding up her hands in a sort of 'don't hurt me, I just woke up' gesture.

"Downstairs," Tierza told her with a sympathetic smile. "Sugar and cream too. And tea."

"Hallelujah," Abby muttered and headed for the staircase, turning around at the last minute to grab the long brown paper parcel with her name on it that had been sitting in front of her room.

Fifteen minutes later, nursing her second cup of steaming coffee, Abby finally summoned up the energy to open the package and upon seeing the contents, her face lit up. A cutlass! Not ornate or set with gems or anything, but obviously well-made and serviceable, complete with a baldric, a whetstone, and a small multipurpose dagger. She had to fiddle with the baldric a little to figure out how to wear it, and then ran through the hotel, finally finding a mirror on the wall of the cloakroom- slightly cracked, but it would do. She looked at herself critically, wrestled her hair into a practical braid, and examined her reflection again. She still looked more like a 18-year-old biology major who worked at Pizza Hut than she did an adventurous pirate lass, though the sword definitely added a certain something. The jeans would stay; though admittedly less romantic, she was willing to bet they were both sturdier and more comfortable than breeches. The shirt she'd been wearing when she'd arrived here, being loose, light blue, and long-sleeved, could almost pass as the ubiquitous white shirt that practically everyone here wore, but boots would be impossible to afford and she was unlikely to find any that fit better than her sneakers. Then her wandering gaze lit on the empty hatstand in the corner. _Aha._

The clock in the town square was just striking ten when she came running back into the inn, wearing a navy blue tricorne that she'd gotten from a secondhand hat shop by the docks. She saw Siren and Governor Swann approaching the inn and quickly darted around the building to enter through the kitchen door, making it into the common room just as the front door opened. Several playful swordfights stopped in mid-parry, the momentum of one halted flourish causing the user to knock over a sugar bowl. It made a musical clinking sound in the sudden silence.

"Good morning," Siren said dryly, surveying the scene. "I see you found your weapons. Please sheathe them." Those who had them out did so, several fumbling slightly with the unfamiliar angle of the baldric. "Will is going to give you your first lesson on how to use those things this afternoon." There were several excited squeals in response. "But first, this morning, Governor Swann has done us the honor of offering to explain to you all the history of Port Royal." A more restrained enthusiasm greeted this announcement.

"We'll be going for a walk while I do so," the Governor added from beside her. "So if you would all follow me, the lesson will begin."

"Port Royal," he began as they walked in the direction of the harbor, "was at first nothing but a single fort. It was first colonized by some men under the command of Sir Oliver Cromwell. Failing to capture Hispanola as directed, the fleet decided to conquer Jamaica instead rather than return to England empty-handed. At the time Jamaica was very poorly defended, and they had little trouble securing control over it. After they made the conquest, they built what we now call Fort Charles- they called it Fort Cromwell then, of course. What made this fort so significant was not its military strength but its strategic position. Built at the very tip of the sand spit between the harbor and the sea, it could monitor the narrow entrance that separated Kingston Harbor from the rest of the Carribean. This meant that whoever held the fort was effectively in control of the harbor and all traffic passing through its waters."

"You mean you have power over every ship in the area?" Linsey asked with somewhat increased respect.

"Only if they want to make use of the calmest, safest, deepest harbor available for miles." The Governor smirked slightly. "And one of the most prosperous trade cities in the Carribean. Because a city quickly sprung up around the fort. Kingston Harbor became a place where large ships could stop to be repaired, loaded, unloaded, and re-provisioned. It's quite difficult to find anywhere else in the Carribean that is half so convenient for those purposes as here. Many harbors are too shallow for the really large ships to use safely, but we're not. And the larger ships are, almost without exception, cargo ships."

"What about pirate ships?" Holiday Faerie asked, getting to what she felt was the point of just about any discussion in which water was mentioned. They were passing the docks, and the fort was clearly visible looming above them. Siren answered her.

"Well, for a time, Port Royal was a little like Tortuga is now, with a very high tolerance for, shall we say, alternative lifestyles. The inhabitants were a mixed bag of all kinds of religious groups, social classes, and nationalities, and because of the less stringent societal standards, they also ended up with a lot of prostitutes and criminals. You're walking through what was once one of the seediest pirate towns in the West Indies, girls."

"Yes, yes," the Governor acknowledged hastily, "but that was before the colonial government of Jamaica passed tougher laws on piracy and smuggling. Now, we've got the best pirate execution record throughout the Carribean. Forty-one pirates in the last month alone, if you can believe that. You've all seen Gallows Point, haven't you?"

"Yes," they answered, remembering all of the lovely rotting bodies.

"That is what happens to any pirate who ventures into these waters."

"Um. Doesn't he know that the Black Pearl is-" Becca started to say, and was cut off by Siren.

"_No. Shut up_. Sorry, she's thinking of somewhere else. Would you continue the lesson please, Governor Swann?" Siren added sweetly, shooting the students a warning look.

"Well, moving on, would you like to learn a little more about the fort?"

After their tour of the fort and the harbor, where the Governor pointed out many of its defensive fortifications and advantages, the class was dismissed and they went down to the docks to buy lunch from a vendor- which turned out to be freshly caught and fried fish, glazed with hot butter and wrapped in waxed brown paper. Either the sea and the new surroundings had some effect on their appetites or they were just very good fish, because they tasted delicious. The students from the 21-st century were a little taken aback at paying only 4p for a fresh, good-sized lunch, but they were reassured by Sarah, Angel, and Siren that this was quite a reasonable price in the 1700s.

They ate watching the ships load and unload crates of cargo, making a game of guessing what was inside, and stopped briefly at the Black Pearl to say hi to Pintel and Ragetti, who were currently on watch duty, with standing instructions to quit Port Royal and sail around to Old Harbor if anyone recognized the Pearl and tried to start trouble. Then the students ventured back into the city for their first swordfighting lesson. Will started the class out with basic facts about the parts of a sword and their functions ("This is the grip, where your hand goes. That is the guard, which protects your hand. This is the blade, which is used both to attack and to block your opponent's attacks. That is my butt you are groping, Summer. Please stop.") and ended with him having each student attack him, one by one, so he could assess their skill level. When he had disarmed the last one, he sheathed his own sword and knelt down on the floor facing the rest, who had been sitting in a half-circle, watching.

"Well, we've got four who've had the basic training, though only two of you pay any attention to what your feet are supposed to be doing; a couple more who can defend themselves with a sword but have no clue how to attack; and the rest of you are starting completely from scratch. Yet at the same time, you all seem incredibly eager to stab something. I'm not sure if that's a good thing or not. I'm going to separate you into two groups. The first group I would like to take practice swords- that's the wooden ones, mind you- split up into pairs, and take turns attacking and defending. Teach each other what you know already. The second group, those without experience, will spread out and imitate what I do as I show you the basic positions in which to hold your sword."

Abby ended up in the beginner's group, occasionally stealing envious glances at the first group, who were fighting clumsy mock battles that often ended up with both opponents laughing hysterically. She sighed and moved her sword from position four to five as Will demonstrated, feeling as if she were in the 18th century equivalent of an aerobics class. Her arms quickly got sore, but he continued drilling them until every one of them could move through all the positions from memory, with what he deemed to be acceptable "form," whatever that was. She had never imagined that learning swordfighting would be so _not_ exciting, and from the disappointeded faces around her, she was not the only one to come to that conclusion. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Will dismissed them. She sheathed her sword gratefully. The sun was just barely touching the horizon when they exited the smithy, and the wind was cool and wet on their faces.

According to Will, they had the rest of the night free, so Abby, desperate not to return to the inn, walked back to the docks and sat on the pier next to where the Black Pearl was docked, staring at it dreamily. She longed for a hot shower and a cold cream soda, but the ocean breeze and the murmurring noises of the city in the background were quite a tolerable substitute. It really was a beautiful ship. In fact, it was lovingly kept in perfect repair, with the exception of the ragged black sails, which were currently furled and lowered since the ship was parked in the harbor, or whatever you called it when you dropped the anchor to make the ship not float away. She suspected that referring to it as "parking" in front of any of the pirates would be a mistake.

She really didn't know much about ships, she reflected. Sure, she'd gone on a cruise once, but the boat was powered by an engine and probably radar navigation. How did they navigate before all that stuff was invented? She deeply hoped there was no math involved. Wouldn't that suck, being a pirate and still having to do math?

"It never used to be a question o' math for any seaman, pirate or not," a voice said from behind her, and she started in surprise, realizing she'd been thinking aloud. She spun around and found Gibbs standing behind her, also looking at the Pearl. "They're makin' all sorts o' gadgets nowadays though- octants and sextants and I'm even hearin' England's workin' to put together some sorta Almanac, measurin' latitudes and longitudes and all sorts o' bloody mapmaker's tripe. Helps ye out some, I imagine, if ye're some snot-nosed little git straight out o' a fancy rich-boy's school, an' 'oo knows more about sums and jee-o-nometry than 'e does about the patterns of the currents and the taste of the sea. That's the direction the milit'ry's goin' these days. Oh, they still got some o' the traditional old-style seadogs that can dead-reckon their course through the heart of a storm, but as yer boy Norrington found out the hard way, the ones on top now jus calculate angles and numbers under powdered wigs an' think they can tame the ocean with 'em the way frail young girlies tame lapdogs. Back in the day, the old commodores an' captains, they knew the sea and 'er secrets an' sure they respected 'em, no matter that some of 'em were rich bastards an' pansies even then."

"_You_ used to be in the Navy, didn't you?" Abby asked, and then realization dawned on her. "Hold on, I know you were. You were on the ship that took Elizabeth and her father to Port Royal years ago, that was you!"

"Aye, that was me. Bloody morbid child, that lass was. Even worse now that she's grown. That girlie's more like Jack than she'll ever know, fer all she plays at bein' a gentlewomen. Both likely to lie, cheat, steal, change sides, do any mad thing that they get into their heads, just to keep their hands on the few things that matter to them."

"You're changing the subject. Why did you leave the Navy? Was it the wigs and the sextants and all that? Or what?" Abby didn't want to hear about how much Elizabeth and Jack had in common. He deserved someone better than that bitch who betrayed him without a thought. Someone like Abby.

"I was press-ganged when I was twelve, lass. That's to say, they surrounded me and dragged me to their ship with nothin' but the clothes on me back. Never saw me home or family again; I reckon at this point they're better off thinkin' me dead. So I grew up on the sea, and somewhere along the line I fell in love with 'er. I learned 'er ways an' moods until I could sense the winds shiftin' in the marrow o' me bones an' tack into port with half a crew and a broken mains'l in the pourin' rain. But I got old enough that I felt I'd earned th' right to say what I thought about captains whose ignorance cost crew members their lives. I never left the Navy. 'Twas the Navy that left me. In truth, lass, th' main difference between the things the Navy does an' the things pirates does, is pirates don't plunder in the name o' the crown or pretend like we're servin' anyone but oursel's. An' I'll say this about pirates: they don't brush off years of experience jus 'cause ye can't put what ye know into fancy, educated words." The aging seaman shook his head and then cupped his hands 'round his mouth and shouted at the ship.

"Thought ye was supposed to be keeping watch! Drop the plank and let me in, ye dogs!" There was a groan from somewhere on deck and Pintel pulled himself up to lean over the side, his good eye bloodshot.

"Jack's keepin' watch while we rest."

"Jack," Gibbs stated, speaking slowly and condescendingly, "Is at the pub. From which, and let me make this crystal clear for ye, _he cannot see the ship_. An' ye ought to be grateful he can't, because he'd 'ave you haulin' bilgewater for weeks!"

"Nah, nah. Not the Captain. The _monkey,"_ the protesting voice of Ragetti drifted over the side of the boat.

"Monkeys don't keep watch, ye addlepated fool."

"'E's keepin' watch, see?" Pintel protested, pointing to the undead monkey hanging upside down from the rigging, who did indeed appear to be keeping an eye on the ship and anyone who passed by.

"Just drop the bloody gangplank, would ye? And tell me how-" he appeared to be choosing his words carefully- "tell me how you boys came to the decision that yer tasks would be better suited to a monkey."

"Well, someone left three bottles o' good dark rum lyin' on deck by the captain's cabin," Pintel explained as he lowered the gangplank to allow the First Mate aboard. "So we decided t' sample some, seein' as we was all alone an' it was a damn borin' job we 'ad."

"An' when we took a poll, 'e was the least drunk of the three of us," Ragetti concluded as if the answer should be obvious. Abby spun around quickly so her back was to them, both hands over her mouth, shaking with silent convulsions of laughter.

"THE MONKEY IS DRUNK?" Gibbs roared. "That does it. You two, belowdecks and sleep it off the best ye can, because tomorrow at dawn ye'll be polishin' every inch of this vessel, an' if ye can't see yer ugly faces in it by the time I bring the whelps in to learn ship-talk, I'll keelhaul ye until ye're coughin' up plankton."

"Um," Abby said in a small voice after a moment of dead silence. "Please don't leave it to my imagination to guess what keelhauling is."

"Well, ye know how the bottom of a ship is covered with sharp-edged barnacles and such?" Gibbs asked, dealing the two lazy watchmen sharp blows to the back of the head as he passed them. "I am offering these two lackwits the privelege of polishin' those barnacles with their faces while bein' drug back an' forth under the keel of the ship by ropes until we feel like lettin' em back up." Abby's stomach churned at the description.

"They could drown…"

"Ah, it hardly ever kills 'em. And abandoning their duties? Some'd say a keelhaulin's too good for 'em. There's no place for the soft aboard a pirate ship, lass. Now would ye keep an eye on the Pearl while I go drag one of the men from the pub down to replace this sorry pair?" Abby nodded obediently, and since it was pretty much what she'd already been doing.

Hanging peacefully amid the rigging, the monkey belched and gave her a tipsy salute.


	5. Ch4: For External Use Only

DISCLAIMERS: I do not own any of the PotC characters or places. I do not own any of the students except Cate and Abby. I do not own the idea of the Official Fanfiction University, which belongs to Camilla Sandman, creator of the OFUM (fanfiction university for LotR, from which this is a spinoff.) If any of the textbook titles in this chapter are the actual titles of real books, I don't own them either, nor am I referring to them.

Admission is closed for this year; no more students are being accepted. If you want to be involved in the university but didn't apply in time, you're still invited to post on the OFUC forum with questions, comments, criticisms, and suggestions. (To find the forum, go to my profile and click where it says "My Forums" underneath my pen name and contact link. I'd link directly to the forum here, but the link disappears whenever I try, so... yeah.)

* * *

Yesterday they'd been allowed to sleep in. Today, there was no such luxury, but in Abby's case, it hardly mattered. Spreading out her blanket and pillow on the floor in an attempt to avoid the bedbugs, she had woken up at three in the morning to a tarantula walking delicately across her face on long, hairy legs. She'd been too freaked out to even make a sound, and had just frozen and lain there like a rock as the tarantula climbed through her hair and down to the floor. Then, she sat up, screamed into her pillow, and fled from the room, shuddering.

**(AN: This has actually happened to me. Trust me, you never, _ever_ want to experience that kind of wake-up in your life.)**

She had been wide awake the entire rest of the night, and was sitting in the inn's common room drinking tea, her eyes darting around to detect possible spiders every few moments, when Siren, Gibbs, and Jack entered the inn half an hour after sunrise. Siren and Gibbs greeted her before heading up the stairs to pound on people's doors until they woke up, but Jack got sidetracked at the sight of the amber liquid in her mug and demanded that she share some of what she was drinking. Abby got the feeling he was still lamenting that the rum his fangirls had bought him had been drunk before he'd had a chance to taste it.

"Sure, but it's only tea," Abby warned him, pouring some more in another cup and handing it to him.

"Wha's wrong with you? Ye look like yer about to fall over." Jack leaned against a wall and made a face when he tasted his tea.

"I can't sleep in this place." Her libido somehow overpowered her brain once again and convinced her that it would be a brilliant idea to add in a breathy voice, "Haven't you ever just lain in bed, naked and restless and alone, and not been able to fall asleep?" _Did I really just say that?!_

He raised an eyebrow. "Captain Jack Sparrow does not go to bed naked and_ alone._ That would really defeat the entire point of takin' off me clothing in the first place, savvy? An' right about now, ye should be gettin' yer restless, lonely carcass to the docks." He paused for a moment, as if considering an idea that had occurred to him, then gave a mischievous grin and poured the tea in his mug onto her head, chuckling as she jumped to her feet hastily, her face turning red. "See, now that woke ye up."

"The docks. Y-yes, captain." _Damn, damn, damn, damn, damn!_ She scampered out of the inn and buried her face in her hands. _What the hell was that?You idiot!_ She heard laughter and saw Siren standing in the doorway, snickering.

"And you can just shut up," Abby snapped sulkily.

"In any other circumstances," Siren replied, smiling in cruel amusement, "you'd get a detention for that comment, but I don't think there's anything we could possibly do to you that would be more humiliating than what you just did to yourself."

A horribly accurate assessment, Abby was forced to admit as she trudged to the docks, hating herself. A couple hours in the brig or an afternoon of swabbing decks would be nothing compared to the mortification of what she had just said. God, would she ever be able to look Jack in the face again?

The other students followed just a minute or so behind, several still yawning and taking inventory of the bug bites acquired during the previous night. Holiday Faerie had come up with the plan to get some hammocks from the Black Pearl and find a way to hang them in their rooms so they could sleep in them rather than the beds, and she, Grace, and Koneka Naomi were arguing over what they could possibly hang them from.

When they arrived at the docks, Gibbs was waiting for them in front of the Black Pearl.

"Got a question for ye all," he said when they were all standing in front of him, blinking in the morning sun. "Can anyone tell me what kind o' ship this here beauty is?" He pointed at the Pearl.

"A pirate ship," about half of them answered immediately, making Gibbs roll his eyes.

"O' course it's a pirate ship, ye sorry lot o' ninnies. But what _kind_ o' ship is it?" There was a pause.

"A frigate," someone suggested.

"A sloop," another student volunteered.

"Clipper?" Abby put in, that being the only kind of ship of that era whose name she remembered.

"A galleon," Gibbs corrected them, with a scornful snort at their attempts. "Specifically, a man-o'-war. I'd explain the specifics o' why, but ye won't understand what I'm referrin' to, so first, ye get a lesson in the parts of the ship." He nodded at Ragetti, on board, who lowered the gangplank, and pointed at it. "Gangplank, obviously."

"Have you ever made anyone walk the plank?" Nina asked curiously.

"Walk the plank?" Gibbs glanced at her, his forehead furrowed in confusion.

"You know, to execute people," Kat explained.

"If a person's not killed in battle, we gen'rally either maroon them or put a bullet through their 'ead," Ragetti put in. "Or, if we're feelin' 'specially cruel, we drag 'em out o' their beds before sunrise an' make 'em clean the bloody ship." He gave Gibbs a dark look.

"Nah, that's jus fer the ones that ain't worth wastin' a bullet on," the first mate replied unsympathetically. "Anyway. We are now standing on the…"

"Deck," everyone chorused.

"Right. Now let me show ye some bits ye prob'ly don't know by name." He walked them through the entire ship, demonstrating the mechanics of a square-rigged ship; explaining that the windows were portholes, the doorways were hatches, and the ropes were lines; showing them the helm, the galley, the mess deck, and the sick bay and giving them the name of each specific line and mast until their heads were spinning in a maelstrom of "I'm never gonna remember all this crap."

Some had sailed before, in 21st century vessels, and were able to win a bit of Gibbs' respect with their recognition of many of the terms. Becca, Tierza, Angel, and Summer, all of whom had a decent amount of previous experience with ships, were declared teaching assistants and given the duty of harassing the other students until they knew the name of everything on board. There was a great deal of whining, forgetting, and repeating things until finally Siren climbed down from the crow's nest, (where she had been happily reading a book) , went to her cabin, and returned with Post-It notes and a pen so they could label things. Jack was enormously indignant about this until Siren promised to take them off later that evening and gave him the remainder of the Post-Its so he could label things as he wished. For the next day or two, everyone was picking newly discovered post-it notes off themselves and their posessions_ ("student wythe large ears," "Will fangirle," "scurvy," "me fangirle: scaery, keep away," "fangirle's elbow," "trousers: fore external use only")._ There was even one on the monkey which said only _"bewaere."_

About an hour after noon, at which point they'd spent the last several hours hanging out on deck, quizzing each other on ship parts and asking the crew questions, Gibbs ordered them off the ship and sent them to the smithy to practice with Will. That day's lesson, to their delight, was much more interesting than yesterday's, though quite a bit harder as well. They were split into pairs, one partner attacking, the other defending, and Will walked around, correcting form and instructing them on their footwork. Abby had never really considered what her feet were doing to be part of fencing, but apparently it was. It came naturally while attacking, but she kept messing up when she was defending herself. Her partner, Linsey, was having the same problem, and Will had to come back to them several times and talk them slowly through it.

"You can't panic when someone's attacking you," he repeated, making Abby stop, prodded her forward to where she had been standing, then made her step back using the right foot this time. "You have to keep form. Doing it this way will slow you down now, but speed will come later. The reason I'm telling you to do it this way is because once you do get fast, you can move much faster if you're moving like this. Linsey, try varying your thrusts more randomly when you attack; your opponent will be trying to predict your moves and you want to keep him off guard. And doing a happy dance whenever you get a hit in is not exactly going to inspire dread in your enemy."

"I wouldn't do it in actual battle," Linsey replied defensively.

"You're training your body to fight automatically. Forming reflexes. So attack as if you were in actual battle, only slower. If you need to dance, wait until your opponent's defeated, all right?"

"I can do that."

By the time the lesson ended, everyone was starving. Will gave them directions to a nearby pub, where they found fresh bread, fruit, and what the pub's cook claimed was beef stew, though it seemed to be mostly carrots and lumpy potatoes. Halfway through the meal, Siren burst in, smirking gleefully.

"Guess what? Your textbooks have arrived. When you're done eating, go to the docks immediately. You're expected to spend the rest of the afternoon and evening studying them; have supper wherever you want, but after last night, if we catch any of you in a pub drinking, you'll be thrown out."

"Last night? What happened last night?" Abby whispered to Becca.

"Cate, Kat, and Tierza were playing the Jack Sparrow drinking game at the Lusty Wench last night. I'm not sure exactly what happened but when we passed by the inn this morning there was a sign on the door that said "Closed For Repairs."

"The Jack Sparrow drinking game?"

"Apparently you drink a shot every time Jack mentions rum, the Pearl, or his hat, another every time he gets slapped, and another every time he says 'savvy' or 'I'm Captain Jack Sparrow.' It's not so bad when you're watching the movie, but in his actual presence, sitting in a pub watching him tell stories of his adventures to anyone who will listen… let's just say you might as well save yourself time by drowning yourself in a barrel of rum right off."

"Ah. I see." Abby winced sympathetically, wiping up the last of her stew with a piece of bread and eating it. "Closed for repairs. I'm not even going to speculate."

At the docks, they found a small boat docked right next to the Pearl, piloted by a strawberry-blonde young woman who was standing on deck and talking to Siren. Siren glanced over, noticed the students' arrival, and said something they couldn't quite hear. Then Siren turned to the group.

"This is Larael, official Librarian of the OFUC. She has brought your textbooks, which you are commanded to keep safe, dry, and in one piece. Where did you put the crates again?" she turned to Larael questioningly.

"In the galley. It was too damp in the hold; I didn't want to take any chances with them."

There turned out to be seven textbooks, several of them quite heavy- the students found themselves staggering a little under their weight as they carried them back to their rooms at the inn. Dumping them on her cot, Abby examined them. _Avast! A Dictionary of Nautical and Piratical Slang. Piracy Through the Ages. Yo Ho Ho: The Tradition, Function, and Lyrics of Sea Shanties. Women At Sea: Detailed Accounts of Real Female Pirates. The Distinguished History of the British Navy_. - God, that one was thick. Why did the least interesting subjects always have the most lengthly textbooks? _The East India Company and its Role in 18th Century Politics. The Flying Dutchman and Other Dark Legends of the Sea._

She picked up _Women At Sea_, opened it, and began to read.


	6. Note: sorry for the delay

AN: I haven't abandoned or forgotten you all, I swear. Between a new accelerated math class that occurs at 8:30 in the morning and getting very very sick with some mutated form of the flu that my father brought home from South America I have not been up to writing much these past few weeks. The next chapter will be delayed a little, but I promise that I will get back to the story as soon as I can.

Thanks for being so patient, guys-

Siren


	7. Ch5: The Legacy of the Pirate Queen

DISCLAIMER: Credit for the original fanfiction university that inspired this spinoff goes to Camilla Sandman (creator of the official fanfiction university of middle earth) and all her loyal followers. If you Google "OFUM" you will find her fanfiction university stories, which totally kick ass. Disney owns PotC and all the characters in it. All students of the University belong to themselves or to their creators and are used only by specific request.

ADDITIONAL NOTE: None of the textbooks listed as part of the OFUC curriculum are real, as far as I know. There are lots of great books about pirates out there, but I'm afraid it's up to you to find them- I've read a couple and forgotten their names, but I don't own any personally. I know Barnes & Noble has had several on display ever since the PotC movies came out. All of the text of the following chapter in Women At Sea was written by myself, based on information from various websites I've researched. It is all in my own words and copyright me. I do not grant permission for this to be copied or posted on any other website - if you want to post the _link_ to this story, go ahead, but if this shows up on any other sites without my permission, I will not be happy.

So... I decided to spend an hour or so this afternoon researching Grace O'Malley and then all the sudden it was 8 PM and hours had gone by and dinner had been eaten without me and I'd written all this. The next couple chapters may still be slow in coming, as I remain extremely sick and my throat feels like I tried to swallow a sea urchin (yay, nautical metaphor!) and tomorrow I get to spend a lovely 7 hours at college and then come home and write a presentation that I get to present first thing Wednesday morning, if I haven't completely lost my voice by then. So wish me luck, and enjoy the history lesson. I hope you find it as inspiring and fascinating as I do.

Oh, and a bonus trivia fact for you all. Grace's first husband, Donal O'Flaherty, was nicknamed "Donal the Cock" for his bravery in battle. Her second husband, Richard Burke, was called "Iron Dick," for reasons history can only guess at. Being completely immature and perverted, I find this hilarious.

-Siren

* * *

Women At Sea- Chapter 1: Grace O'Malley, The Pirate Queen of the Irish Coast 

Grace O'Malley was born in 1530, the daughter of an Irish chieftain. His clan dominated the Western coast of Ireland both on land and on sea, with several castles and a fleet of ships. Grace fell in love with the sea at a very early age, and as a child, spent as much of her time as possible at sea. When her disapproving mother decreed that she would stay at home and off ships as was fitting for a young girl, she cut off her long hair in protest, and her family started teasingly calling her "Gráinne Mhaol"- "Bald Grace,"a play on her Gaelic name, Gráinne ni Mhaille- a nickname which was later shortened to Granuaile, by which she was known by all her life. Her father eventually relented and she grew up sailing, fighting, and voyaging on his fleet. When she was fifteen, she was married off to Donal O'Flaherty, another Irish clan leader. It was a political marriage arranged by the two families, and it soon turned out that Donal was shiftless and irresponsible and had no idea how to take care of the lands he held. When it reached the point where the people in his territories were starving, Granuaile stepped in and made a few changes behind the scenes, unofficially taking on most of the management decisions. Though as a woman, she couldn't legally hold office, she basically took on her husband's duties as well as fulfilling her own duties as his wife by bearing him three children- two sons, Owen and Murrough, and a daughter, Margaret. Donal eventually got himself killed while fighting a rival clan, the Joyces, and despite the fact that he'd been pretty useless in life, Granuaile immediately avenged his death, attacking the Joyces and taking over their stronghold.

But the O'Flahertys ignored the fact that she'd just carried out an impressive military victory in their name and denied her any power over her husband's holdings. Though they didn't make her leave, if she had remained on their lands she would have been stripped of all the authority she had wielded as Donal's wife. So she took the kids, returned to her father's lands, cut her hair short again, and used the last of her funds to scrounge up a couple ships and hire 200 men who would be loyal to her alone. She won their respect with her intelligence and the fact that even after three kids, she was still as competent on a ship as any sea captain, and then she took them and set up a little business on the side. Since she had been left with neither money nor political power, she set up a base on Clare Island and used this strategically positioned headquarters to take command of all shipping in that part of the coast. She charged ships for safe passage, hired out navigators, and mercilessly raided any ships that wouldn't pay the toll. Eventually she took a Norseman who she'd rescued from a shipwreck as her lover, and when he was killed at Doona, she went after his killers and slaughtered them herself.

In 1566, at the age of thirty-six, she married a second time, to Richard-an-Iarainn Burke, her former husband's nephew. With this marriage, she gained control of all Clew Bay from his fortress, Rockfleet Castle, and was able to carry out large-scale raids on other clans and passing merchant ships. She still spent a great deal of time at sea, and even gave birth to Richard's son, "Toby of the Ships," in a ship's cabin a year after their marriage. The next day, the ship was attacked by Turkish pirates, and she got out of bed, grabbed her sword, and led the battle personally, loudly cursing her crew as she fought for not being able to manage without her for even one day.

The British, as you can imagine, were not too pleased with this. She was basically a full-fledged pirate by this time and wielded more political and strategic power than they were comfortable with. They sent a force against her, but she fought back and forced them to retreat. After that, she continued her raiding and pillaging as she had before—only now the British became her favorite targets. A few years later, political necessity forced her to pledge loyalty to the crown, but this was pretty much a token gesture as she didn't bother to change anything she was doing. Her only real tie to England was a friendship with the poet Sir Phillip Sidney, who she had a long-lasting correspondence with. The two exchanged letters for years, but the content of the letters is unknown, as none of the letters survived the ravages of time.

In 1577, Granuaile was imprisoned after she staged an attack on Limerick and held for 18 months. She arranged her release by convincing the British that she would betray Richard, who was in rebellion against the British governor of the province, Sir Richard Bingham. Upon being let out, she returned home and joined him in resisting British control, threatening any British tax collector who trespassed on her land with death. When Richard died, five years later, she remained at Rockfleet and continued the rebellion against English rule, using her fleet to transport soldiers and Scottish rebels who supported her cause. By then, Bingham's reign had escalated in brutality and everyone in the area was caught up in the conflict. In 1586, Bingham captured Granuaile, confiscated her posessions, and took control of her followers. Though Granuaile was released unharmed, her son, Owen, was murdered by his troops, and stripped of all her power on land, she returned to the sea, where she resumed her raiding in order to survive. Bingham hounded her incessantly, and several years later, Murrough sided with him against his own mother in order to maintain his own holdings on land. Granuaile was furious at his treachery, and swept down on his lands with her fleet, burning down his town, stealing his cattle, and killing several of his followers. In 1593, Bingham impounded her ships and arrested Granuaile's two surviving sons as well as her brother, Donell O'Piper. Granuaile wrote to the Queen of England, protesting this treatment and offering to end her raiding permanently and use her fleet to eliminate England's enemies if only she were granted an annual stipend to live on and as long as that bastard Bingham was made to give her her bloody ships back! Eventually, after a meeting with Her Majesty in person, the Queen ordered Bingham to do as she commanded. Though Bingham still hounded her, ordering a company of soldiers to follow her on all her voyages, he was fired two years later and it is believed that she returned to her old habits of raiding ships, though there is only a single report of her being caught doing so. The date and circumstances of her death are unknown, but as she reached her mid-to-late sixties, she returned to Rockfleet, where she lived when she was not at sea and most probably where she died.

Despite her growing lack of sleep, Abby stayed up late that night, walking to the beach to sit on the sand and watch the moonlight on the waves. Her head was filled with visions of ancient Ireland, of ships and battles and the wild laughter of the Pirate Queen. Why had she never heard of her in any history class, read about her in any period novels that were set in Ireland? How had the pirate queen, in scarcely five hundred years, been forgotten, while so many perfectly useless historical figures from that time were still put up on pedestals for students to look up to?

It was ridiculous, that's what. She wondered about Grace O'Malley's daughter, Margaret, mentioned only once in the long history of her mother's life. What must it have been like for her, growing up in the violent whirlwind that was her mother's life? Did she spend her girlhood at sea surrounded by soldiers as her mother had before her, or was she raised in isolation at the stronghold on Clare Island like a princess in exile? Did she fall in love with and marry one of the sea captains sworn to her mother, or was she married off by the O'Flahertys as a young girl, to live a demure noblewoman's life and watch her mother's exploits from afar? Did she die very young? Was that why mention of her was so scarce?

She lay back and looked up at the stars, the same ones as at home, only so many more, brilliant and mysterious against the darkness. She'd never felt so small, so average, in such a huge, glorious world. The sensation was almost liberating. Perhaps that was why pirates were drawn to the sea- it was so much bigger than their lives. So much bigger than the nightmares and heartaches of their past or the struggles of the present. It was a home that could never be taken away from them. Abby wished she were one of them, wished she had the kind of spirit that confronted such adventure rather than watching in fascination from the sidelines, and knew that she was not. But it was peaceful here, with the waves beating a soft rhythm on the cool, smooth sand…

Half an hour later, she was deeply asleep, lying there on the sand, a slight smile on her face.


	8. Ch6: Insane Women with Swords

DISCLAIMER: Credit for the original fanfiction university that inspired this spinoff goes to Camilla Sandman (creator of the official fanfiction university of middle earth) and all her loyal followers. If you Google "OFUM" you will find her fanfiction university stories, which totally kick ass. Disney owns PotC and all the characters in it. All students of the University belong to themselves or to their creators and are used only by specific request.

New chapter! Happy Easter, everyone :)

* * *

"Abby… Abby. Hey, Abby. Wake up." In a drowsy daze, Abby opened her eyes a crack, then shut them again upon seeing light. Light was bad. Light meant that she was expected to move. She groaned at the insistent tugging at her sleeve and put her hand over her face to shield her eyes from the sun before opening them again.

"What?" she asked, looking in the direction of the tugging to find Siren kneeling on the sand next to her, looking at her a little weirdly.

"You need to come with me to the ship. We've been looking for you. It's nearly noon. And this is not a safe place for a female to sleep alone in any case." Abby made a face and dragged herself up to a sitting position. Her face stung slightly when she moved it and she reached up to touch the skin of her cheek with her fingertips._ Ow. _

"Yeah, it looks like you're a little sunburned. Elizabeth might have a lotion or a salve or something that will make it sting less. You can ask her later. Now come on. Get up." Siren stood and offered her a hand, which she took and pulled herself up by, blinking and shaking sand from her now-half-undone braid.

"You've been looking for me?" Siren was leading her in the direction of the docks.

"That is the usual response when someone disappears. Cate said you never came back to the inn last night, so we searched the city after breakfast. Then they had to go to their swordfighting lesson, which should be almost over by now. Some of the crew are still out searching for you. They started a betting pool on where you spent the night."

"Where I spent the night?" she asked stupidly.

"I believe Gibbs has ten pounds on "passed out drunk in a barn." Pintel and Ragetti each put a few pounds on "stowed away on a merchant ship and is now halfway to Australia" and Anamaria and I both bet quite heavily on "hiding and pretending to be kidnapped in order to attract Jack's attention."' Siren smirked.

"I never planned to fall asleep here! Though… what was Jack's bet on? _Was_ he worried about me?"

"Jack didn't bet. He's all distracted and pissed off because Barbossa arrived early this morning. They won't stop arguing over which one of them is the Pearl's rightful captain. And your fellow students keep joining in the argument in defense of whichever one they think is hotter."

"Barbossa, hot?" Abby found that a little disturbing. "He's frickin' undead!"

_"Was_ undead. The curse was broken at the end of the first movie. And Jack was undead too at the time, remember? Anyway, don't argue with me, talk to Tierza and Grace. They both sided with Barbossa. In any case, regarding the bet, I don't suppose you'd like to tell me what you were doing so I know whether or not I'll be getting my twenty-five pounds back?"

"I just fell asleep when I was lying on the beach, thinking. That's all!" Abby turned her path left slightly to avoid a large jellyfish that had washed up with some seaweed on the shore.

"Thinking about what?" Siren asked, throwing her a curious glance.

"I read the chapter on Grace O'Malley. She was amazing. Though… if someone made up a character like her in fanfiction, she would instantly be accused of being a Mary Sue." She felt quite clever after she said that and wilted a little at the other woman's prompt response.

"It's a valid point that not every defiant, independent female character is a Mary Sue, but there's more to it than that." Siren began ticking off points on her fingers. "One: Grace O'Malley was never described by anyone as beautiful or even pretty. Two: Her parents did not die tragically in her childhood. Three: She had a nickname that was basically the Gaelic equivalent of "Baldy"- what kind of Mary Sue would actually go by a name like that? Four: She did not refuse to honor the arranged marriage her relatives made for her 'because she wanted to follow her heart.' She damn well went and married the guy and made the best of things, because that's what you _did_ in her time. Five: Once in the arranged marriage, she did not fall in love with her husband. Six: She got old and continued to have adventures. Mary Sues have adventures when they are young and beautiful and then either die immediately afterward and leave a pretty corpse, or settle down with their true love and live a perfect, idyllic life. Seven—"

"All right, all right, I get the idea," Abby cut her off, shaking her head and making a mental note not to get Siren started on that particular subject ever again. They climbed the mossy wooden steps up to the pier. "So if I missed sword practice, what class is next?"

"We've sped up our schedule a bit- the harbormaster has started looking at the Pearl a little suspiciously and asking awkward questions. Possibly because the monkey refuses to hide during moonlit nights and so a few sailors have seen a tiny skeleton dancing through the rigging. I've told Gibbs and the Captain they should lock him up at night, but they just said, "you catch him." Anyway. It's time for you to start getting into the real stuff. You're learning the Pirates' Code and being formally welcomed on as crew members. We leave for Tortuga tomorrow, if the weather holds."

Abby squealed with joy and bounced up and down a couple times, to the amusement of several sailors who were passing by them, carrying a large crate onto their ship.

When they reached the Black Pearl, the other students mobbed them, most of them demanding to know where Abby had been and what happened to her, and a couple complaining about random issues to Siren.

"Will is being a jerk!" Summer raved, imitating his comments in a girly whine. "_You're striking too slowly, you're blocking wrong, you're not listening to me_… I know what I'm doing, dammit! I won awards for my fencing back home!"

"Ever won any using an 18th century pirate's cutlass?" Siren questioned, cutting the rant short. The gray-eyed girl paused.

"No. But…"

"He's also got you helping the others with their footwork, hasn't he? And using you as an opponent in demonstrations?"

"Yes, but… but…"

"I fail to see your problem?" Siren raised an eyebrow, and Summer glowered at the world in general.

"I need _real_ chocolate. There's no solid bars of chocolate here. It's not natural," she grumbled.

"It's also not invented until the 19th century. The bakery across town does some decent chocolate-flavored buns, though."

"Thank you," Summer said, still sulking, glancing over at Abby, who was trying to explain to their classmates that she had not meant to disappear.

"So you didn't spend the night with a pirate?"

"You missed meeting Barbossa this morning! It was so awesome."

"I wonder if that means I won the bet. Does sleeping on the beach count as washed up unconscious on the beach? Could you sort of, you know, jump in the water really quick so that's what it looks like? I'll split the profits with you."

"Too late, they've already seen her! Whoa… Jack is not a happy pirate this morning."

Jack, who had just climbed out of a hatch on deck, did indeed look furious.

"Someone get that bloody mutinous traitor off my ship before I shoot him!"

"Now, now, Jack," Barbossa said mockingly, coming up behind him. "Don't ye have any respect for yer elders and betters?"

"You brought 'im 'ere, wench, now make 'im go away!" Jack yelled at Siren, baring his teeth, several of which sparkled gold in the sun.

"Please let him stay to teach the students? He won't be any trouble and I'll give you rum?" There was a grudging pause from Jack.

"How much rum?"

"Enough to last you to Tortuga and back again. We can negotiate on more after that. And remember, your fangirls outnumber his if it comes to a mutiny."

"But they're women!"

"Insane women with swords," Siren pointed out. He thought for a second and nodded with painful reluctance.

"Bugger this all. Okay, all of you, listen up! Ye will proceed to the plank, sign the Articles, and swear to abide by the Code. Did ye find the dead one?"

"I didn't die, I fell asleep on the beach," Abby called back to him.

"Close enough. Come on, then. Up here, handsomely now, we ain't got all day!"

Abby, who had just stepped on board the ship, opened her mouth to say something, then thought better of it, closed her mouth, and bent over the crate that held the parchment titled "Articles." The writing took a second to get the hang of as it contained some creative spelling and was written with old fashioned s's that looked almost like f's. The articles read:

I. Every Man to have a Vote in Affairs Of the Moment; and Equal Title to the Fresh Provisions or Strong Liquors at Any Time seized, that He may use them at Pleasure, unless a Scarcity makes it Necessary for the Good of All to vote a Retrenchment.

II. Every Man shall have equal Share of the Booty; the Captain shall have one full Share and a Half in all prizes; the Master, Carpenter, Boatswain, and Gunner shall have one Share and a Quarter. If any Man hold Two or more Offices, he shall take the Share of the Highest One.

III. That Man that steels any thing from a Member of the Company, to the value of a Piece of Eight, he shall be maroon'd or shot.

IV. That Man that does desert the Company while ingaged in Battle, he shall be maroon'd or shot.

V. That Man that shall offer to run away, or keep any Secret from the Company, he shall be maroon'd or shot.

VI. A Marooner shall be given as his Provision one Bottle of Powder, one Bottle of Water, and one small Arm which has in it a single Bullet.

VII. That Man that is found seducing a Person of the Female persuasion, that Carries her to sea in Disguise, shall be sentenced to Death.

A. Upon his Death, a Sentinel shall immediately be placed over her, to prevent Ill Consequences from so dangerous an Instrument of Division and Quarrel. That Sentinel shall be chosen by Vote.

B. To prevent Conflict in the Company over Use of her body, the Sentinel shall allow no Man lie with her save Himself.

VIII. No Striking of One Another on Board, but any Quarrel to be ended on Shore, at Sword and Pistol.

IX. That Man that shall Strike another while these Articles are in Force, he shall receive Mose's Law (that is 40 Stripes lacking One) on the bare Back.

X. That Man that is found Guilty of taking any Unlawfull Weapon on board the Ship, so as to Strike or Abuse one another in any Regard, shall suffer what Punnishment the Captain and Majority of the Company see Fit.

XI. No Snaping of Arms in the Hould. That Man that is found guilty of firing in the Hould, or Smoking Tobacco without a cap to his Pipe, or carrying a Candle lighted without a Lanthorn, shall receive Mose's Law or suffer what Punnishment the Captain and Majority of the Company see Fit.

XII. That Man that shall not keep his Arms clean, fit for an Ingagement, or Neglect his Buisness, shall be cut off from his Share and suffer what Punnishment the Captain and Majority of the Company see Fit.

XIII. No Person to game at Cards or Dice for Money. That Man that shall Defraud another of the Company in such Manner to the Value of a Ryal of Plate, he shall suffer what Punnishment the Captain and Majority of the Company see Fit.

XIV. That Man that sees a Sail first, he shall have the best Pistol or Small Arm on board of Her.

XV. That Man that shall lose a Joint in time of an Ingagement, he shall have 400 pieces of Eight, if a Limb, 800.

XVI. Any Fit and Able Seaman that is on Board a Ship Taken by the Company, if he Break with his Companions and Surrender Himself, he shall be given Leave to sign the Articles and join the Company.

XVII. Any Party, upon the Threat of Ingagement, may invoke the Right of Parlay. If the Negotiations offered are not deemed Acceptable by the Company, or if Any of their Men does break the truce by attempting Violence or Escape, no further Mercy will be granted.

"Captain? I have a question about rule seven." Abby tentatively interrupted the argument going on in the background between Jack and Barbossa. Both pirates turned to look at her.

"Rule seven?" Jack asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Er… yeah. About no carrying women to sea."

"No carryin' women to sea _in disguise_," Anamaria corrected her, climbing out of the hatch that led to the hold. "Are ye in disguise?"

"Oh! No. And I'm not being seduced either. So I don't need a Sentinel?"

"'Course not," Jack said, waving a finger at her illustratively. "But ye're not allowed to be an Instrument of Division and make Ill Consequences, savvy?" Abby bit back a giggle and solemnly nodded her assent. Having no experience writing with a quill and ink, her signature was half obscured by inkblots, but compared to the other signatures- several of which were just X's representing pirates who hadn't mastered the art of writing- it wasn't half bad. A tiny thrill went through her as she walked over to stand by the rest of the crew on deck.

One by one, the others signed the Articles. When they were all on board and official crew members, Gibbs turned to face them.

"We will now sail out o' the harbor and then back into it." Gibbs sighed and gave them all a scornful shake of his head before continuing. "All new crew members stay on deck an' watch an' listen closely, because tomorrow mornin' when we leave for Tortuga, ye'll be the ones doing it."

"Now! All hands on deck! Anchors aweigh! Come about leeward and prepare to cast off!"

Kelsey was flipping through her Pirate Slang dictionary frantically. "Right, so he just told them to raise the anchor, turn the ship in the direction the wind is blowing and… and get ready to untie the moorings, which are…" Another second of pages quickly being turned… "the lines that lash us to the dock."

As they pulled out of the Pearl's berth, another ship slid in to take it immediately and Jack cursed under his breath. "Oh, bugger, we won't get that place back when we return. We'll probably have to berth on the other side o' the bloody harbor."

"Does this remind anyone else of people fighting to get the best parking spaces?" Grace asked, grinning.

"Might be a good thing," Barbossa pointed out mildly to Jack, who just glared at him. "Siren said they was startin' to look too close at us and knowin' the lot of ya, ye didn't pay the fee for dockin' there, did ye?"

"Like ye ever paid one yerself?" Jack shot back.

"I'm jus' sayin'."

The captain and the mutineer continued to argue even as they worked alongside the rest of the crew, tightening lines and angling sails to catch or counter the wind. The students watched closely as they exited the harbor and then turned back and tacked into it.

"It doesn't look that hard," Cate ventured as they finally found another free bit of dock at the far end of the harbor between two fishing boats.

" Heave to now! Drop anchor an' make berth!" Jack bellowed from the helm after turning the wheel sharply and maneuvering into their new berth. "An' who said that last bit?" The robot-student raised her hand tentatively.

"I did. We used to sail together when we were children, don't you remember?"

"Ye're still convinced ye knew me? What's me sister's name, then?"

"Jacqueline, of course." Cate answered automatically.

"An' where's she live?" Jack continued, looking at the metallic student in a somewhat funny way.

"England!"

"Only I don't 'ave a sister." The crew and several of the students started snickering at this. Linsey patted the stricken-looking Cate on the shoulder sympathetically, then yelped and snatched away her hand, blowing on her fingers and wincing. The metallic pail skin of the other girl had grown painfully hot from standing in the sun. Barbossa looked at the pathetic creature with a mixture of sympathy and interest.

"Fer the love o' god, lass, either get into some shade or… y'know, ye might actually lie down flat on the deck so we can fry up somethin' fer lunch."

Fifteen minutes later, watching the students teach the pirates how to make pancakes in the shape of animals, with the cooking surface periodically joining in the conversation herself, Siren nearly died laughing.


	9. Ch7: The Voyage Begins

DISCLAIMER: Credit for the original fanfiction university that inspired this spinoff goes to Camilla Sandman (creator of the official fanfiction university of middle earth) and all her loyal followers. If you Google "OFUM" you will find her fanfiction university stories, which totally kick ass. Disney owns PotC and all the characters in it. All students of the University belong to themselves or to their creators and are used only by specific request.

* * *

"All right. Just a couple more feet t' go, mate! An' ain't this more fun than books?!"

"I'm not… sure…" Holiday Faerie took a couple more tiny, quick steps, staring down at the ocean beneath the narrow board she was walking across in striped knee socks. "Did I mention I'm not good with heights?"

"Er, yeah, that'd be the fourth time I think," Jack said, squinting and nodding to himself. "Right, fourth. Ye're practic'ly there though. Get on with it, it's my turn next!" He waved his arms at her encouragingly.

"I fell in and it wasn't that bad, just wet. You can do it, Holly!" Sarah encouraged her from the deck of the Pearl, where she and the other students were standing, having walked the thin board Jack had balanced between the decks of the Pearl and the large fishing sloop docked next to them. Holly bit her lips nervously and rushed the last few steps to the Pearl's deck with her eyes squeezed shut.

Gratefully, she landed on deck, stumbling onto her knees. The second she'd crossed, Jack was on the board, running down it, sleeves flapping, waving a bottle of rum in each hand. He neatly leapt off the end of it, flying right over Holly's head and landing in front of her.

"Now what?" Kat asked eagerly.

"Now we each have a drink and do it again!"

There was a mixed chorus of cheers, groans, and laughter from the students as Jack passed around the rum. They had spent the afternoon learning various acrobatics necessary for proper piracy, including how to slide down a line (if you had nothing to drape over it and hang from, you hooked your elbows or knees around it, but never your hands or wrists or you'd get a wicked rope burn), how to climb up the side of a ship with your hands in shackles, where to aim when throwing a grappling hook, how to load the ship's cannons, and how to pick a cheap lock with a file. It would take time and practice, Jack had told them, before they would be able to even try the more complicated locks, but the basic tricks were things anyone could master.

"Take what you can!"

"Give back nothing!" The students finished Jack's toast in unison, clinking mismatched cups and bottles together as several of the veteran crew members walked up to the docks.

"You still on the ship wit' them, Captain?" Anamaria grabbed one of the ropes they had been using earlier- now hanging from a mast with one end pooled on the dock- and pulled herself aboard with the kind of effortless ease that the students had been trying to accomplish earlier that afternoon.

"It's fun! I can get them to do all sorts of random pointless things with me! Watch this!" Jack grabbed Linsey's hand and pulled her onto the board. "Jump into the ocean with me!"

"Oh my god, that's so romantic," Linsey whispered, her face lighting up. She jumped, and Jack sidestepped on the board, trying to slip his hand out of hers so he wouldn't have to fall in the water himself, but he couldn't escape her deathgrip and after a second's stumbling struggle, she took him down with her. Both the old and the new crew members cracked up laughing. The two surfaced a second later, Jack trying to get his hand back without any noticeable success.

"Daft," was Anamaria's only comment, though she couldn't keep the grin off her face. "Come back in to the pub and dry off by the fire, Jack. Bring them with you if you like."

They finished the evening quite comfortably in the pub, and Abby fell asleep that night dreaming of ropes and rum and skeleton keys.

* * *

The next morning, they were woken up at the crack of dawn and told to pack their belongings and haul them down to the dock, because they'd be leaving in fifteen minutes.

"But we need time to wash first," Abby argued to Ragetti, who looked at her askance.

"Wash? What for?"

"There's no deodorant here! If you don't wash really, really well at least once a day you start smelling like…."

"Like wha'?" asked the pirate, rubbing at his wooden eye with filthy fingers.

"Well… I guess you guys wouldn't notice, but we would. We're from the 21st century! We've grown up with very negative attitudes toward body odor!" Abby tried to explain.

"Are ye saying ye don't like 'ow we smell?" Ragetti asked, looking offended.

"It's just a cultural thing," she said, avoiding a direct answer. "We like _you."_ She heard a snort from behind her and turned around to see Gibbs scowling at her.

"Yer crew now, an' pirate culture don't have nothin' in it about delayin' a voyage fer a bath. If ye're so keen for water, ye can try to catch up to us swimmin' once ye've finished yer washin'." The two pirates left the inn snickering and Abby sighed, feeling slightly guilty. It wasn't as if the much-lusted-over Jack smelled daisy fresh either, but the scents of rum and the sea were strong enough elements of _eau de Jack Sparrow_ that she'd been able to ignore the layer of body odor and convince herself that he smelled exotic.

Besides, they wouldn't be able to bathe on the ship, unless you counted jumping overboard. She might as well start getting used to it now.

Twenty minutes later, their textbooks, weapons, and any other items they had purchased in Port Royal were stowed in their cabins and they were standing to various degrees of attention on the main deck with the rest of the crew. Will and Elizabeth were there as well, Will looking the same as he always did and Elizabeth dressed plainly and sensibly in men's clothing.

"Take off yer shoes. Ye'll get yer sea legs a lot faster and it keeps ye from slippin' all over the place," Jack ordered the students as he climbed down out of the rigging. Abby glanced around her and saw that everyone on board except Jack and the students were barefoot, and quickly slipped off her sneakers and socks and dumped them below deck with the rest of her belongings. When everyone was finally shoeless, Jack paced down the line, looking at each of them, and finally clapped his hands together once.

"Right then. New crew members only, get t' work! Anchors aweigh! Raise the mains'l and prepare to cast off! … no. Koneka and Kat, what ye have there would be the for's'l. Raise the _mains'l_, ye bloody ninnies! Yes, that one! Becca, you leave my steerin' wheel _alone, _savvy? Get out of the cockpit and help Angel stow that anchor or it'll be days afore we're out of here!" Jack made a face at the sheer pandemonium taking place.

"Niiice," commented Barbossa with just the slightest hint of a smile. He and the rest of the crew stood there and watched Nina get tangled in the mooring line while trying to coil it, while the rest of the students struggled with the mains'l and the anchor.

Their exit from the harbor was slow and unsteady and reduced Jack and Gibbs to a state that they required a bottle of rum each to recover from. Barbossa, who was there in a teaching capacity only (Jack refused to give him his former position as first mate) and therefore not responsible for the workings of the ship itself, seemed to be enjoying the situation thoroughly, as did Siren, Cotton, Anamaria, and the dwarf Marty.

Pintel was patting the captain's shoulder and telling him, "They'll learn, don't worry, they'll learn…"

The monkey on Barbossa's shoulder covered its eyes as the mutinous first mate snickered.

"…they'll learn."

Things settled down some once they were finally out of the harbor and on a straight course northeast, sailing towards the coastal waters off the part of Hispaniola that would remain under French rule until 1804. With some guidance from Gibbs and the use of a detailed map of the area, they figured out what landmarks they'd need to be on the lookout for and when they would need to shift their course further north. They were taking a much-needed rest in the mess hall when Pintel climbed down the hatch and announced that they would now have their first lesson of the day. They dragged themselves back up to the deck, curious, and found Ragetti standing there waiting for them.

"Wha', don' I look pretty enough fer ye?" he asked, spinning his parasol around and glancing down at the old, gold-embroidered dress that bore the marks of being worn during the battle at Isla de la Muerta, particularly a large bloodstain on one of the flounces.

"We will be havin' now class one of Things-You-Should-Probably-Not-Be-Doin'-On-A-Pirate-Ship, because-it-is for-yer-own-edja-macation and Siren says ye'll give us a hug and some rum if we do." Pintel recited, looking uncertain. "D' I say it right?" he asked Ragetti, who nodded and then shrugged, straightening the lace ends of his sleeves.

"Um… sure. _Just_ a hug though, right?" Becca asked suspiciously, glancing at the others.

"An' some rum," Ragetti reminded her.

"An' ye can give us more 'n a hug if ye wants," Pintel added generously with a wink.

"Told ye I looked good in this 'ere dress. They all wants ta kiss me now," Ragetti said aside to Pintel in a smug tone. The students made incoherent grossed-out sounds, and from belowdecks, they could hear several people snickering. Pintel scoffed at them. "Fine, ye don't have to. Fangirls… can't live with 'em, can't shoot 'em."

"We could shoot 'em, technically," Ragetti argued, waving his parasol in the air, "But th'captain wouldn't like that. No more crazy lasses to follow 'im an' buy 'im rum an' all. No, what we need… what we need's our own fangirls." The two pirates looked equal parts wistful and resentful.

"Back t' work then," Ragetti finally grumbled and addressed the students. "Things ye don't do on ships! Some real experienced tars can walk across ropes. But they don't do it while th'ship is sailin' and ye will now see why." He looked at Pintel. "Ye're doin' this first one, because I'm in skirts and I got to keep me modesty as a lady." Pintel climbed up the mast and selected a rope that was drawn straight between two sails, then stepped out onto the boom (the spar that the bottom of the sail was attatched to). It tilted slightly and he wobbled and wheeled his arms around as he stepped out onto the rope, looking for a moment much like Jack Sparrow did on solid ground. Then there was a slow creak and the entire sail tilted. The rope beneath his feet went quite a bit slacker as that happened, and sent him lurching sideways. He hooked an arm and a leg around it in mid-fall and climbed down out of the rigging to drop onto the deck beside his friend.

"Climbin' gen-rally works. But ye don't go walkin' on ropes. There's sails attatched to them- we don't jus' string them between the masts for the purpose o' tightrope walkin'." Pintel tilted his head to look at the sagging sail and then made Tierza and Summer go tighten the line.

"Now, things ye don't do on ships, number two. If there's a hole in the ship, ye don't fix it by fillin' it with beeswax."

"Beeswax?" several voices asked incredulously at the same time.

"Siren said she'd seen it in fics afore. The writer prob'ly did the same with the ones in 'is 'ead. Now, if there's a hole in the ship-"

"_No blowin' holes in me ship or I'll 'ave ye whipped!!!"_ the captain could be heard bellowing from his cabin below.

"We're NOT!" most of the class yelled back, and heard a more muffled, "_Good._ "

"If there's a _theoretical _hole in the ship," Pintel continued, "Why don't we want ta fill it with beeswax?"

"We don't have any," pointed out Kelsey, who'd had a look through the hold earlier. "The candles are made of that what-do-you-call-it-stuff. Tallow."

"Yeah, 's cheaper. But there's another reason. Think o' how strong wax tends ta be, or look at the weather in these parts."

"Hot enough to melt wax," Kat said.

"If it's in the sun it'll go all gooey an' drippy. But the real bad problem is when the hole's somewhere under the draft, because…" Ragetti looked at them expectantly and then pointed his now furled parasol at Holly's nose.

"Ocean pressure is stronger than wax?"she ventured.

"If ye mean the water'd make it crack an' leak, then yeah." The pirate nodded approvingly. "Thing number three that ye don't do on a ship! Let me demonstrate. We're in a storm, all right?" Ragetti announced, going into the mess hall and shutting the hatch behind him. Pintel narrated in a way that sounded suspiciously like he'd gotten hold of a couple fanfics at some point and taken personal offense.

"The storm was ragin' an' the waves crashin' poetically an' suchlike. The crew 'ad lashed down everythin' on deck an' was now sittin' in the hold to wait out the storm, 'cause the author forgot that anyone but the captain 'ad quarters to stay in an' stowed the rest in the hold like bleedin' luggage. But the captain was still on deck. Ignorin' the fact that 'e was prob'ly steerin' the ship through the storm as best 'e could, our lovely 'eroine decided to bravely come out to rescue 'im." Ragetti burst out of the hatch and dramatically cried out in a falsetto,

"Oh, me darlin' Jack, I will save ye!"

From belowdecks there was a faint but annoyed, "That's _Captain Jack_ _Sparrow_, please."

"And I will save ye without lashing meself to a safety line, in the middle of an 'orrible storm, because I'm _special!"_ Ragetti dashed out onto the deck and Pintel grabbed him and threw him overboard. A moment later a splash was heard as he hit the water.

"I was bein' a wave," the sailor explained, tossing down a rope for Ragetti to grab. "Waves'll sweep ye clean overboard in a storm. Get over here an' 'aul the poor lass up, or e'll get 'is feelin's 'urt." The gowned sailor was hauled up, dripping but still in character.

"Oh my, I've been rescued! I think I will pass out now for no apparent reason!" he exclaimed and collapsed limply onto the deck.

"Can't do that an' call yerself a pirate, either," Pintel said, poking at Ragetti with his foot. "Acceptable reasons to pass out are an 'ard blow to the 'ead or drunkenness. Anything else is jus' silly." Ragetti sat up.

"Or pain from 'avin a limb cut off would be reasonable," he added.

"What about loss of blood or suffocation?" Angel asked, and was answered with an ambivalent wave of the hand.

"Blood, I guess... though ye got to lose a lot of it afore ye actually keel over. I never passed out when I lost me eye, and there was blood all over the place then. But suffocation from a corset don't count as suffocation. Or suffocation from fallin' overboard, because ye should bloody well be able to swim. If someone's chokin' ye to death or 'oldin' yer 'ead underwater, well, that's all right."

"We appreciate you giving us permission to pass out if we're choked to death," Abby said a bit sarcastically, biting back a grin.

"Oh, that's not permission. Ye got to ask fer _permission_ from me," said the voice of Jack Sparrow from behind them, and they all spun around, several of them quickly smoothing their hair and clothes.

"Hi, Captain. Can we have permission to pass out if we're being choked to death?" Koneka asked immediately.

"Can ye cook something up fer lunch?" Jack countered. "If so, then ye can 'ave permission to pass out even if ye're only bein' choked to severe discomfort."

After some discussion and argument, it was discovered that Nina, despite being the youngest of the group, was the best cook, and they all enjoyed an early dinner of roasted salt pork with apple-honey glaze, grilled onions and tomatoes, and soft, fresh sourdough rolls. You know, the word buccaneers originally came from the French _boucaner_, "to cook over an open flame,"' Siren told them, reaching across the table to get herself a second helping. "Before galleys, pretty much everything pirates ate was grilled or smoked. Therefore, they were called _boucaniers_, barbeque-ers."

"Seems like the bloody French invented everything around here," muttered Pintel, licking honey glaze off his fingers. "Parlay, buccaneers…"

"… kissing…" added Kat, who was staring at Jack with a distant look in her eyes,

"I always thought the Spanish invented kissing," Barbossa commented thoughtfully, scratching his beard.

"The Spanish?"Anamaria queried through a bite of onion.

"I'm part Spanish, ye know," he added seemingly at random.

"So ye say, but that's a West Country accent if I ever 'eard one," Jack commented, rolling his eyes.

"Never said I'd lived in Spain," Barbossa countered. "Me father's family was Spanish is all. You, lass. Nina, that yer name? You cooked this? Wonderful stuff."

"Thank you," Nina said proudly.

"I helped with the rolls," Grace put in eagerly.

"You too then, they're splendid," he told her, and the tall redhead glowed slightly at the praise, taking an absentminded sip of grog and then making a slight face.

None of the students except Angel were used to drinking the mixture of three parts water to one part rum that was all they got to drink on board. It didn't taste any better than it sounded, though they found the flavor was much improved when they added lime juice as they saw some of the pirates doing. It also created another problem for some of them- to their abject horror, the head was right out in the open where anyone could see it, and none of them had been able to bring themselves to use it. Abby had privately decided to sneak out there early the next morning, before dawn, when no one would see her, and tried to drink as little as possible of the liquid so as not to make her situation any more desperate.

"Let me add my compliments as well," Will added, finishing his last bite of pork and standing up. "When you're done eating, there will be a swordfighting lesson on deck. Barbossa's volunteered to give some tips on swordfighting on board a ship, which means the captain will probably come around to try to outdo him. So there should be plenty of teachers to go around. Elizabeth, are you coming?"

"I'd love to. I'm terribly out of practice." They left the room and the students finished their meal.

The swordfighting class was their best yet, and they enjoyed the chance to test their skills against their three new opponents. Jack fought with a speed and dexterity that defied his seemingly drunken demeanor, but his tendency to engage you in conversation while he fought made him an impossible opponent, since one couldn't really resist being distracted by his comments. Elizabeth had been taught quite well by Will, and it showed in her boldness and form, but she'd only started learning in the past year or so, and was a good deal closer to their level of experience than to that of the pirates. Barbossa, however, turned out to be almost as skilled a fighter as Will. He handled a sword with a practiced elegance, and it was impossible to predict his strategy as he changed it every few minutes. The class wound down when the last reflections of the setting sun faded from their blades, following the burning disk as it sunk below the horizon. Despite the darkness the warmth of the day lingered, and several students, including Abby, went for a swim in the starlight.

One by one, they drifted off to sleep that night in gently rocking hammocks suspended from the beams of their cabins belowdecks, feeling like seafarers at last.

* * *

Now everyone needs to help me out and suggest more Things You Probably Should Not Be Doing On A Pirate Ship for the next class on that topic! -Siren 


	10. Ch8: The Truth About Black Sheep

VARIOUS DISCLAIMERS: Credit for the original fanfiction university that inspired this spinoff goes to Camilla Sandman (also known as Miss Cam, creator of the legendary OFUM) and all her loyal followers. Disney owns PotC, the "Pirate's Life For Me" song, and all the characters therein. All students of the University belong to themselves or to their creators and are used only by specific request.

CORRECTION: In the previous chapter, Jack refers to the wheel at the helm of the boat as a steering wheel. This is incorrect and is not what he would hacve. It was referred to as just the helm, or occasionally, the wheel. Thanks to **Janette Morgan** for catching that.

ADDITIONAL NOTE: The basics of Jack's life story are taken from several reliable sources that cited the Disney website and Disney publications. I tried to fill in a few small details and word it as he himself might tell it. Any editing errors in this chapter are due to me not being given time to edit this fing thing because my boyfriend is an idiot and my mother won't let me have five minutes to finish this even though I already did everything she asked.

* * *

Darkness hung heavy over the ship in the silent hours before dawn when Abby crept from her hammock. She made her way onto the deck as quietly as she could, sticking to the sides of the ship and edging around guns and lashed-down barrels. Shadows obscured most of the deck. She was edging around a tall pile of crates and congratulating herself on her stealth and cleverness when she turned a corner and walked right into something in the dark.

Or perhaps a better term might be some_one._ There was a yelp and her unintentional victim jerked away, and then _they_ collided with something that also made a suspiciously human sound of pain. Abby stumbled backwards, alarmed.

"Ow! What the heck! Wait a second… Linsey?" the first voice asked in a whisper.

"Tierza?"

"Who's whispering over there?" a third voice hissed from a few feet away.

"Who ran into you?"

"Me," Abby told the first two under her breath.

"Abby?"

"What is everyone doing up here?" a fourth voice whispered from behind her.

"Sarah?" Abby asked, spinning around.

"I don't know about everyone else," the third voice confessed, sounding suspiciously like Koneka, "But I'm waiting for Summer to finish using the head so I can go.

"That's what I came out here to do!" either Tierza or Linsey- she couldn't tell in the dark- burst out.

"Me too," Abby admitted.

"That was my plan too," Sarah added, then yelped in painful surprise as the hatch next to her opened and slammed against her shin.

"Who's that?" one of the others whispered.

"Um, Holly," muttered the shadowy figure climbing out of the hatch. "I thought no one would be up here at this time in the morning, so-"

"You came out to use the head?" Abby guessed ruefully.

"How many people are up here?" Holly whispered in confusion.

"Anyone else out here? Speak up," Koneka said to the ship in general.

"Me, and I think I ran into Grace going back down on my way up here." Kelsey's voice chimed in.

"What is this out here, Grand Central Station?" Kat asked, following Holly out of the hatch.

"Apparently," responded someone who sounded like Becca from a pool of shadow on the other side of the deck.

"Well, so much for privacy," Tierza sighed.

"I'm next after Koneka," Kat announced quietly.

"I call third," Linsey said. Abby groaned and let herself slide down to the ground, leaning back against the crates.

It was almost twenty minutes before she was able to use the head and then slink back to the cabin to get some sleep.

Those who were still asleep by around 8:30 or so were woken by a heavy banging on the door of their cabin. Abby put down _The Flying Dutchman And Other Dark Legends of the Sea_, rolled out of her hammock and opened the door to an empty hallway.

"What the…" she blinked a few times.

"Down 'ere," someone said, and she glanced down to see Marty looking up at her. "Breakfast is… interesting, and ye've got yer first class in 'alf an hour."

"Breakfast is… interesting?" Abby asked, confused.

"I suppose I meant ready," he corrected himself, tugging on his goatee. "I think." He went down the hall a short ways and banged on the next cabin as Abby went to the mess hall to see exactly what 'interesting' consisted of.

"They're apple spice muffins," Summer said meekly, backing further into the corner, a dot of flour still on her nose.

"This is a thing that should not be done to an apple," Barbossa said, looking at his muffin sorrowfully.

"And if you throw it the right way, it bounces," Becca commented, throwing it at the floor. It hit the floorboard with an audible _thud_ and then rolled away a couple inches to reveal a newly made crack in the wood. The student cringed. "That, I think, is what happens when you throw it the _wrong_ way. I'll fix it. Please don't kill me, captain."

"Can't exactly 'ave someone put to death fer droppin' a muffin on the floor, can I? Get it fixed by dinnertime an' we'll pretend it ever 'appened, savvy?" Jack paused and tapped the surface of a muffin with his fork. "That's interesting. I never thought it was _possible _to make anythin' harder than hardtack," he mused.

"How did you get so strong?" Linsey was singing quietly, tossing her muffin from one hand to the other, "How did you get so hard?"

NIN, "Ruiner"

"I fhink I cracked my toof," Pintel said, poking around gingerly inside his mouth.

"Sorry." Summer swallowed hard.

Siren was rummaging through the galley looking for leftover rolls from the afternoon before. Finding four of them wrapped in a cloth, she put them on the table along with the remainder of the sack of apples. "Here. Not too fancy, but at least we can eat this without injuring ourselves in the process."

"No, I'm curious about this," Will said, waving off Summer from his spice muffin as she tried to inconspicuously clear them all away. "How did you do it? Does anyone on board have an anvil?"

"Will, there's edible breakfast now," Elizabeth told him softly, tapping his shoulder.

"Professional curiosity," Will argued, but took an apple with him as he wandered off to experiment with the unbreakable muffin.

"But you're a pirate and a blacksmith, not a cook!" Elizabeth called after him.

"I know! I may have discovered a new weapon!"

"Welcome to the most interesting class ye'll have aboard this ship!" They were all sitting in a semicircle around the helm, where Jack stood, his arm draped across his knee and his other hand resting on the wheel. "This is the Captain Jack Sparrow class, where you will learn about ME." Several students cheered. "Thanks, luvs," he said, grinning. "Now, to begin. I was born and grew up in India, not _England_, mind you, India. Just because someone 'as a British accent doesn't mean 'e's from London. The British've got a whole big fancy empire thing goin' if ye haven't noticed. This's how they spoke English where I grew up. I also speak Hindi, an' can sorta get by in 'alf a dozen other Oriental languages. Not that that's unusual, seamen tends to be familiar with a lot of diff'rent tongues -" several of the students snickered at this. Jack paused. "What? What'd I say?"

"Oh, you might want to avoid using the word seamen," Siren said from a nearby pile of crates where she'd been sitting and listening to the lecture. "They get ideas."

"What kind of ideas?" he asked, straightening his hat absentmindedly.

"Extra credit to anyone who can explain the relevant homonym to the captain and keep a straight face while doing so," Siren offered.

A few minutes later, after Jack had finished laughing, called Gibbs and Anamaria over to tell the joke to them, and had them roll their eyes at him and walk away, the class was resumed.

"As I was sayin', me dad was a captain, so I spent a lot o' time on his ship with 'im; all but grew up on the sea, really. She's me oldest an' best friend." He looked almost sentimental for a fleeting moment, then the mischievous smirk returned to his features.

"Was your father a pirate?" Sarah wanted to know.

"Nah. Didn't even become a pirate meself until I was well into me twenties an' captaining a ship of me own."

"Under thirty is really young to be captain of a ship," Cate observed. Jack shrugged.

"I'd been sailin' since I was old enough to knot a line an' shootin' since I was old enough to load a gun. I was smart an' I knew the waters I was sailin' like the back o' me own hand. And what can I say, I'm-"

"-Captain Jack Sparrow!" they all chorused along with him, smiling.

"I like you lot. Rum fer everyone!" He waved an arm grandly in the air, then looked confused when rum didn't appear. "I said, rum fer everyone!" He waved his arm again, then looked over at Siren, who was still sitting there watching, looking amused. "Well, ye've got legs, 'aven't ye? Rum! Bring us rum!"

"What am I, the bar wench?" she asked dryly.

"Who's ship is this, then?" Jack reminded her. She sighed.

"All right. Rum," she agreed, heading down to the galley with a long-suffering expression.

"So how _did_ you become a pirate?" Angel asked, looking up at him adoringly.

"Well, fer a while I was a smuggler, which many merchants tend to be at times, when the opportunity strikes. An' I won't say I never lifted the odd load o' silks, spices, or opium off the Dutch. But I didn't actually go on the account until I got the P on me arm. Not officially. But once ye're branded, ye might as well make a career out o' it, savvy?"

"You got branded pirate for smuggling, or for stealing?" Grace demanded.

"No, got branded fer doin' something right fer a change. Isn't it ironic? Ye sail 'round the world cheatin' an' stealin' an' wenchin', an' then someone brands ye a criminal fer showin' a bit o' human decency." He shook his head in disgust. "What 'appened was I was given a cargo full o' fresh-captured slaves from Africa to take to the Americas. They 'ad 'em chained up in the hold like - no, not even like animals. Never known anyone to keep animals in those kind of conditions. When they rounded 'em up an' dragged 'em out of there to load them onto me ship, the floor they'd been chained to was inches deep in blood an' filth. There were dead children in there." He was quiet for a long moment. "I let them take the slaves to me ship, an' then I got together me crew an' told 'em what I was thinkin' o' doin'. Those who wanted to leave an' find another ship to serve on were given leave to go. Nearly all o' me best men stayed. Then we set sail for Africa an' took those people home." The students were silent, eyes riveted to his face. "Some o' them, the men without families left to go back to, ended up joinin' the crew. When Cutler Beckett ordered me ship torched and sunk, they died with the rest of me men. Me, they branded pirate an' hauled back to be hanged publicly. Well, bugger that. I wasn't dyin' a pirate until I'd got a right 'andsome career o' piracy to my name. So when I escaped, me and Davy Jones, we struck ourselves a bargain."

"To raise your ship from the sea for thirteen years, in return for serving him for a century," said Holly reverently, because Davy Jones was just _that _awesome.

"That'd be it, yes." Siren returned with some rum bottles and dumped them in Jack's arms. He struggled to catch hold of all of them without any dropping, grabbing at the load of slipping bottles, then got all but one of them in a secure hold. That one fell to the deck, and his eyes grew wide and horrified. Kelsey, who was sitting the closest, quickly reached out and caught it in both hands. He let out an exaggerated sigh of relief and bowed deeply to her, careful not to drop the precious bottles.

"Ye saved the rum! If I ever get marooned with Lizzie again, I'm takin' ye with me." There were jealous gasps from the other Jack fangirls. "Ye've got the power to save rum, she's got the inexplicable compulsion to burn it," he continued, blissfully unaware of the way his lusters were interpreting what he'd said. "I could just lie in the shade an' let the two of ye fight it out …"

"I'd defend your rum!"

"So would I! I'd protect it SO much better than she would!"

"Take me! We could knock Elizabeth out, tie her to a palm tree and drink rum naked on the beach!"

"I'd KILL Elizabeth for the safety of your rum!"

"I would cut off her head and put it on top of a palm tree for you!"

Someone cleared their throat from across the deck and the students slowly turned to see Will watching them, hand on his sword hilt, looking dangerous.

The ones who had mentioned violence towards his fiancee whimpered quietly in fear. He had been sparring with them for over a week now. They knew _exactly_ how easily he could kill them. Angel and Kat clung to Jack's ankles like little kids trying to keep their parents from leaving them with the babysitter. The Captain looked at them and Will and back again, then tried to stagger away from the confrontation with limited success, arms still filled with rum bottles.

"Er, not the best time fer this, mates," he said pleadingly to the rest of the world in general, glancing meaningfully at his arms loaded down with rum.

"If I may?" said Siren carefully, stepping between Will and the frightened Jack fangirls. "Kat, Angel, and Linsey, for threatening violence to a staff member you will be swabbing decks and giving your rum rations to Elizabeth until we get to Tortuga. Angel and Linsey, for threatening to _kill_ a staff member, you will in addition get a ducking from the yardarm and be sleeping on your cabin floors for the rest of this trip. Your hammocks will be returned to you when we reach Tortuga." She looked at Will. "Will that be satisfactory?"

"They'll apologize to Elizabeth as well, I think, after telling her exactly what they said," Will added after a moment of glaring at them. Siren nodded.

"Will! A little help with the rum, please?" Jack asked urgently. "I seem to be falling and they won't let go o' me legs." Will walked over and pointed his sword at the two cowering fangirls, who immediately let go, then he helped Jack steady the rum bottles and put them down safely on the deck. "Thanks, lad. Don't worry 'bout the whelps, they'd never 'arm her. It's only my innate instabilitizing effect on the female mind." He winked.

"Right, of course it is, Jack." Will gave him a deadpan look but did take a bottle of rum with him as he headed belowdecks.

"That boy'll become a pirate yet," Jack said softly with some satisfaction.

"I been told you girls are always writing about women going to sea on pirate ships." Anamaria, ever practical, had commandeered the captain's cabin for her "Women At Sea" class so she could sit in a comfortable chair while teaching. Tierza, Grace, and Koneka had claimed the other three chairs, Nina was sitting on a chest bolted to the foot of the bed, and Kelsey, Abby, Summer, Cate, and Holly were crowded onto the captain's bunk while Linsey, Angel, and Kat scrubbed the floorboards dejectedly. To the students surprise, the captain's quarters were considered sort of a general meeting area for the crew in general, and not the captain's private den of iniquity. When they'd come in to use it, they had had to evict Marty, Gibbs, and Barbossa, who were trying to calculate a route and time schedule by which one could hit the greatest amount of trade vessels as they were passing through the Carribean waters. The table was solidly covered with maps and notes which they had been forbidden to touch on pain of death.

"I should first make you clear on something," Anamaria said, her lilting, accented voice taking on a stern note. "Dey was no female pirates on the Black Pearl before Jack broke the curse and got her back. I was a special circumstance. Taking a female crew member on a pirate ship, it is not a thing that usually happens. But on the Pearl… after me and Elizabeth spending so long a time here, the crew getting used to the idea of a pirate of "the female persuasion"… Captain Jack _would_ be more open to the idea than other captains, I will give you that. But a woman on board has ta pull her own weight, do her share o' work, and act the same as the men she work beside. Ya hear? She is not a crew member just because she hang over the railings all day wit' the wind in her hair an' argue wit' the captain. She's crew when she roll up her sleeves and join in heaving lines and tightening sails and loading cargo wit' the other men. Dressing like a mon helps, but pretending to_ be_ a mon only work for so long 'less you're flat like a boy on top. Hot days, the men work wit' dey shirts open. Hotter days, no shirts on at all. Storms, you're wearing a white blouse in the wet rain. Up north it is probably easier. Cold weather, more layers to hide under, it wouldn't surprise me if more women made it onto ships passing as lads."

"Now, a female crew member does not flirt wit' the men on the ship. It makes things difficult. If she want a mon, she can find a nice lad at some port and keep company wit' him. Maybe a nice lad at _each _port if she want it. No one will stop her. But she is not a woman to the men of the company. On land, she is a woman. At sea, she is a pirate. Repeat that please," Anamaria ordered.

"On land she is a woman, at sea she is a pirate," the students chorused obediently.

"Yes, good. That rule also means that you can't be too…" she paused, searching for the word. "… too sensitive. Pirates are not soft or gentle wit' their words. Nothing so crude or so personal that they won't have a joke or story about it. _Nothing._ You have to just laugh wit' them, even if it just disgusting and it _not_ funny. No one cares that you're female when you laugh off talk about raping women and joke right back about raping men. No one cares that you don't have a firs' mate danglin' between your legs as long as you don't have a fit if somebody pull their own out for no special reason. But if you take those things they say seriously, if you get upset… the entire point o' bein' a pirate is you get to ignore all those social rules of what you can say, how you have to act. That goes for them, too, you understand? If dere gonna be a disapproving woman on board, they might as well have stayed on land or joined the navy. It get a lot easier when you realize that most of what they say is just the bilgewater swishing around inside their heads. They try to impress each other, to top the other mon. Ragetti, Pintel, Marty, Jack, Gibbs, I don' believe a one of them has ever bothered with an unwilling woman, let alone had relations wit' a sheep, but damned if they don' sing the song as if they would, an' damned if I don't sing it wit' them as if I would too." There was a momentary silence followed by a sudden outburst of indignation from the students.

"Hold on, with a sheep?"

"What song?"

"Which song are you talking about?

"That can't be in a song!"

_"Sheep?"_

Anamaria laughed. "Oh, come, don' tell me you girls don' know the words to 'A Pirate's Life For Me!' You supposed to be pirate fangirls, aren't you?"

"There's nothing about rape or… or _sheep_ in that song!"

"No, there _are_ devilish black sheep and really bad eggs, but there's nothing about sex."

"Besides, Elizabeth sang it when she was a little girl!"

"I can recite the lyrics! That's not in them!"

"Are you making fun of us?"

"You don' believe me? Linsey, put down that sponge and go fetch your pirate shanties textbook so I can show you all." Linsey did so, the undead monkey immediately snatching up the sponge like a prize and running away with it when she got up.

"Damn monkey," she cursed, a phrase that one inevitably found oneself saying when on the Black Pearl for any length of time. (Its current projects seemed to be hiding dead fish and random stolen objects in Jack's boots and dropping down on people unexpectedly from above. Only Barbossa was seemingly exempt from the creature's mischief. It was, Jack had been heard to say, as if the two had formed some sort of unholy pact.)

When she returned with the book and handed it to the dark pirate, they all gathered around as Anamaria flipped through it.

"Yes, here it is. See for yourselves." She held the book out, open to a page of lyrics.

"We sail our ship upon the sea  
To see what we can see  
We got no compass, we got no charts  
Besides we can not read

Chorus: Yo ho, yo ho, it's a pirate's life for me.

And if we happen upon your town  
We'll break your door right down  
We'll rape your women and kick your dogs  
Or the other way around  
(chorus)

We'll drink your ale and drink your wine  
And anything around  
And when we've had enough to drink  
You'll find us on the ground  
(chorus)

Scurvy, the Pox, and Syphilis  
Of these we do not fear  
For when you lead a Pirate's life  
Your end is always near  
(chorus)

Once a year we raid the farms  
The sheep, they are so dear  
And if you need a better grip  
You grab them by the ears  
(chorus)

And then one day I left the ship  
To find myself a wife  
All she did was nag at me  
I said, "Give me the Pirate life!"

The students stared at the printed words in horrified disbelief.

"But Elizabeth-" Becca began, running her hands through her hair and trying to make sense of the situation.

"That's not the song they sang in the credits!" Summer accused.

"What's all this yelling down here?" Siren demanded, opening the hatch to give them a curious look.

"A pirate's life for me. Those aren't the lyrics!" The book was passed over to her for verification. She skimmed the page briefly.

"They're not the Disney lyrics, but they _were_ the original ones. In fact, until recently, it was possible to find these lyrics online. Funny thing though, lately all the sites with those lyrics on them seem to have disappeared. You can only find references to them on old message board archives, with links to no longer existing sites where the posters found them. I think Disney is behind it. I mean, with those kind of lyrics on a song that was suddenly being looked up by children with the intent of finding Disney content, I can see why they would want to do something, but I find it kind of creepy how all those websites just suddenly disappear. The Wikipedia links to the original lyrics were also eliminated and replaced with more information about the Disney version of the song, which, in case you're curious, was written in 1967 specifically for the park ride."

"Sites? Websites? Posters? Disney?" Anamaria asked, looking at them as if they were speaking another language. "What park? Riding what?"

"I _liked_ the devilish black sheep before people started raping them," Grace mourned.

"If what she just said's right, they'd been being raped for hundreds of years. Disney just dyed their wool and made them smile and entertain small children," Tierza reflected gloomily.

"This is dissilusioning," Nina added quietly.

"The new version is better, musically and poetically," Siren agreed, "But real pirates never sang it, or the "Fifteen men on a dead man's chest" song that DMC was named for."

"That's not real either?" Cate asked, horrified.

"Robert Louis Stevenson made it up in Treasure Island. Someone else wrote more verses to it later on. Real pirate shanties were not that literate or elegant, girls. 'We extort, we pilfer, we filch and we sack, we maraud and embezzle and even hijack'? Seven synonyms for steal, two of which don't even apply to piracy? And don't forget'We kindle, we char, inflame and ignite'. That song was clearly written by someone with access to a Thesaurus."

There was a heavy silence. Siren handed the textbook to Anamaria, who put it on the table and left the room.

The silence continued. They would be at Tortuga by afternoon tomorrow, but the prospect was suddenly not so exciting as it had been an hour ago.


	11. Ch9: Arrival at Tortuga

DISCLAIMER: I own nothing and no one from PotC. All other characters used in the story are done so at the specific request of themselves or their creators. Therefore I can't be sued for copyright infringement blah blah blah blah blah no one but you reads these disclaimers anyway, you loser.

NOTE: Sorry this took so long, the chapter just did not want to end itself! There is a Terry Pratchett-ism and a reference to The Princess Bride in here somewhere, see if you can find them. Hope you enjoy the chapter and Barbossa's class- not quite as educational as the last one but the next chapter should make up for it. Oh, and I just thought we needed an undead sponge, I'm not really sure why. These things just happen sometimes inside my head.

* * *

Abby jolted awake suddenly, shaking and covered with sweat. She looked around with a hunted expression, saw only the cabin walls and gently rocking hammocks, and let her muscles go limp with relief. The _sheep._ They were gone. Only a second ago, they had been chasing her, the black dye oozing off their wool like slime, eyes reddened, crooked teeth bared, _baa-ing…_

"You too?" asked a quiet voice from the hammock next to hers. Abby looked over to see Becca curled up in a fetal position, her blanket tied around her neck like a cape. Abby nodded uncertainly.

"The sheep…" she began, then had to stop, shuddering.

"Mine were swarming over the sides of the ship and screaming and they didn't have any eyes," Becca said in a shaky voice. "And the pirates were chasing them, trying to catch them so they could—"

"That's awful!" Abby muttered, squeezing her eyes shut. "Don't tell me any more! Don't!"

"I knew I'd have nightmares," Becca said to no one in particular.

"Come up on deck with me, will you?" Abby begged the other girl. "I need to use the head."

"And you want company why?" There was a long moment of silence.

"Don't you dare laugh."

"I won't."

"I don't want the sheep to get me, okay? And I know they're not really out there but I'd just feel a little better if someone else was there to remind them of that."

When they climbed up onto the deck, the full moon was giant and luminous in the sky, and quite bright enough to banish any lingering phantoms of sheep. After they'd each taken a turn using the head and letting the cool wind soothe their strained nerves, they went back belowdecks to their hammocks. Abby curled back up under her blanket, thinking wistfully of her soft cushy pillow back home. Sleeping in a hammock was a definite improvement over the beds at the inn, but she missed pillows.

From across the cabin, there was a sleep-muffled shriek and a thud as someone fell out of their hammock.

Abby winced in sympathy. "You okay over there?" There were a few panting gasps for breath and then a weak,

"Fine. Fine. I'm fine. They're gone now." Then, in a smaller voice, _"They were jumping over a fence and they wanted me to count them!"_

The next morning brought a clear blue sky, light breezes, and what was probably their most unexpected class yet.

"Yes, Pirate Economics," Barbossa repeated, arms folded across his chest, the splendor of his clothing and the glitter of his many rings highlighted elegantly by the Carribean sun. "If yer fixin' ta go on the account (turn pirate), ye've got to know what ta do with yer booty, 'aven't ye?" There was a scattering of giggles and he sighed tiredly. "Not _that_ booty. If ye can't figure out what ta do with yer arse, yer on yer own there, mates. As ye_ perfectly well know_, I was referrin' to treasure. Loot. Valuables. Stuff ye liberate from its original owners, right? Durin' a pirate's life, a lot o' boo—a lot o' _treasure _is gonna find its way ta yer posession, an' if ye don' know how ta handle it, it'll flow right out o' yer hands like seawater just as quickly. There are ways, though, to make sure that if ye someday find yerself short o' funds, ye won't lose yer ship out from under ye." The grizzled pirate picked up a rolled parchment from the ground and unrolled it to reveal… a pie chart?

"Siren showed me how to make it. See, the idea is, yer money's like a pie, and if anyone goes tryin' to take a piece, ye slit their scurvy throats. And ye got ta think ahead smart like, an' don' leave any chance fer any o' it ta get wasted or tricked outta ye." He pointed his sword at the top third of the pie, labeled 'Repairs, Supplies, and Bribes.' "This 'ere comes right off the top. If the ship needs anythin', that's the first thing ye get. Only takes one quick storm ta turn a damaged mast into driftwood or turn a barely leakin' hull into a founderin' ship. 'T'aint a coincidence that shipshape means all in good condition. If ye take a ship out ta sea in any other state, ye're gamblin' with the lives of yer crew. Supplies means the basics: gunpowder, ammunition, rope, canvas, tar, hardtack, rum, water, spare planks fer emergency repairs, all those little things ye don' want ta find yerself missin' halfway across the ocean. An' ye always gotta set aside the odd 'pocketful o' silver fer passage through another pirate's territory or fer an 'arbormaster who might be convinced ta look the other way. In many places, the local folk welcome a little somethin' t'add ta their pay in return fer a safe berth or a white lie to the authorities." He moved on to the next pie slice, which was labeled 'Wenches, Revelry, Etc.' and was a little less than half the size of the previous one.

"This bit, ye ought ta spend on drinkin', partyin', pretty lasses, the finer things in life. No point in bein' a pirate if ye're gonna live like a monk. Or like nuns, in yer cases." Then he moved on to the 'Weapons and Clothes' slice. "First thing ye need 'ere is a good pistol or two an' a quality sword. Then ye'll want a fine big hat ta keep the sun out o' yer eyes, somethin' tough enough to survive storms an' battles without lookin' too much the worse fer wear, an' a coat that can do the same. 'S worth the money ta get a real gentleman's hat an' garb sometime, if ye can't find what ye need off the bodies of merchants after ye've taken their ship. Lasts longer 'n the cheap stuff the likes o' _them _wear," here he pointed at Pintel and Ragetti, who were dressed in their usual haphazardly assembled, slightly fraying clothing, "An' dressin' well makes ye look like a true captain. Prosperous, dangerous, 'andsome.

"But the last bit's one o' the most important," Barbossa told them, stabbing his sword point through the parchment where the remaining slice was labeled 'Jewelry and Personal Effects,' pinning it neatly to the deck. "When ye spend yer life at sea, ye've got ta carry yer personal wealth with ye without the trouble o' luggin' about chests full o' doubloons everywhere ye go. So ye turn some of it into wealth ye can wear. Big rings set with emeralds an' rubies, thick gold chains, medallions, jewel-encrusted belts, fancy daggers, gold teeth. Ever wondered why pirates 'ave so many pierced ears an' noses an' lips an' stuff? Gives ye more room on yer face ta carry yer riches, though drapin' chains through 'em is a bit ill-advised I've always thought. It's practic'ly invitin' someone to yank off 'alf an earlobe an' a nostril an' get a pretty gold chain in the bargain. But d'ye understand why jewelry is such a major part of how a pirate dresses?"

"Because even if someone steals your ship and all the stuff in it, you can still barter your jewelry for whatever you need to chase them down and get it back?" Holly suggested, eliciting a nod of approval from the former first-mate.

"And because you can carry all that stuff while still having both hands free to fight or man the sails," Angel added, thinking back to her own experiences on a pirate ship. It was _very_ important to have your hands free.

"So, pirates don't really bury their treasure then, do they?" Summer asked him.

"What good would it do ta bury all yer money an' leave it somewhere unguarded? Closest I've ever heard to a pirate doin' that is Davy Jones' with 'is Chest. An' Davy Jones ain't exactly a pirate. 'E's somethin' differ'nt, not sure what. Wouldn't care t'ask 'im, either." There was a momentary silence. Abby had never considered that Davy Jones might _not _be a pirate, but he didn't exactly commandeer ships or steal gold, did he? He was just _there_, a semi-supernatural force.

"Why does everyone around here wear bandannas and sashes?" Koneka wondered, bringing them back to the subject of clothing.

"Well, if ye're climbin' in the riggin' or wadin' with a canoe onto a beach, ye'll probably 'ave yer hat stowed away somewhere belowdecks, so a bandanna's an 'andy way ta keep the sun from burnin' right through yer hair to yer scalp. Also, it works as an 'andkerchief if ye need one. An' sashes? Well, ye can make one out o' nearly anythin', they'll keep yer pants up if ye don't 'ave a belt, an' in a pinch ye can use 'em to blindfold or tie the hands of a captive. Or to swing from somethin', or strangle someone, or wipe up the mess if ye're sick, or tie it 'round yer 'ead if ye lose yer bandanna, though 'opefully not in that order." Barbossa made a slight face, then scratched his nose.

"Lessons time's over, whelps," Jack yelled from the helm, where he'd been very determinedly ignoring Barbossa's lecture. "Ye're workin' now! Ready about! Pay off starboard an' look sharp now! We should make landfall soon. That means ye too, ye traitorous dog! Belay that teachin' an' put yer hand to a line afore I send ye and that monkey o' yers straight to Davy Jones' Locker!"

"I'd like ta see ye try!" Barbossa snickered.

"Don't think I won't," Jack snarled as around them, the students quickly adjusted the sails, including one that did not need to be adjusted. Ragetti had to come over and correct them while the Captain and Barbossa traded venomous looks.

"Will not."

"Will too."

"Will not."

"Will too…"

"Uh… guys? You might want to come down here and look at something," Siren's voice called from belowdecks, sounding a little worried.

"What happened to the ship?" Jack demanded instantly, waving his hands at the students in a gesture to go down right away.

"It's not the ship!" was the prompt response, and the pirates all visibly relaxed. The students exchanged uncertain glances as they went down, but when they found Siren, she was just standing outside the crew's cabins, eyes wide.

"What is it?" Sarah asked in confusion. Siren pointed.

Inching across the floorboards was the sponge the monkey had stolen the previous day.

"It's… alive…" Kelsey said slowly in the subsequent silence.

"It was dead yesterday," testified Linsey, who had been the one using it.

"Maybe the monkey stashed it with the coin it stole?" Summer suggested hesitantly.

"It was dead! The coins don't bring what's already dead back to life, they make the living _un_dead!" Grace argued.

"Are we sure it's the same sponge?" Siren asked, looking lost.

"How would a live sponge get here? By swimming to the surface, then climbing the side of the ship, then sneaking across the deck in broad daylight to get through a hatch and down here?" Kat demanded, making a rather good point.

"It _was_ dead!" Linsey asserted once again, taking a quick step back as it neared her feet.

"Not quite," Abby said slowly, hunkering down to get a better look at it. "Sponges are… odd. They can divide themselves into more than one piece, and the separate pieces can live on indefinitely unless something happens to them. If another bit of it was alive, somewhere, then technically it wasn't entirely dead… well, it still makes no sense. Just being in contact with the coin wouldn't have caused it to become undead anyway, I mean, Will and Elizabeth both wore it and they were fine." She held out her fingers to the sponge, which rubbed against them in a friendly way. "Hmm. Hi, sponge. Whether it makes sense or not," she told the others as she gave the sponge a pat, "It appears we have an undead sponge."

"How do you know all that?"Cate demanded.

"Biology major," Abby answered with a shrug. "What should we do with this little guy?"

"It's friendly?" Nina asked hesitantly, kneeling down with Abby and offering it a finger, which it nuzzled briefly as if investigating it. Slowly the others joined them, examining and gingerly touching the creature.

"What're ye goin' on about over there?" demanded Jack, who had finally come down below to see what was happening that was so interesting.

"A reanimated sponge," Koneka told him. "Wanna see?" The circle around the sponge parted to let the pirate through.

"Hmm. Thought those could only live underwater. Well, if ye're keeping it on board, ye clean up after it, hear?" He turned away, disinterested.

"It cleans up after itself," Sarah said, then began to laugh. "That's what it's for! It's a sponge, isn't it?"

"Does this mean we don't have to swab the decks anymore?" Angel asked hopefully. "Can the sponge do it for us?" Siren paused and considered this.

"If you can find a way to get the sponge to do it efficiently, you're off, but I'm not sure how one would do that."

"It moves pretty slowly," Becca observed. "It would take forever."

"It might go faster if we chased it," Kat suggested eagerly.

"But it doesn't seem to be afraid of us." Linsey pointed out, looking down at the sponge, which was crawling over her shoe.

"Could we lure it with food maybe? What do sponges eat?" Angel wondered.

"Plankton, I think," Abby replied.

"Though now that it's undead," Tierza contributed, thinking of Barbossa and his apples, "Neither plankton nor… whatever else it is sponges like will hold any pleasure for it anymore."

"Seems fairly happy," Holly argued.

"Well, it doesn't have a brain or a central nervous system. I doubt it would notice the difference," Abby said, giving it a dubious look.

"Land ho!" someone called from above, and the sponge was promptly left to its own spongy devices as the students stampeded back on deck to get their first look at Tortuga.

"All right, now stay in groups at all times—nobody is to go off alone. Tortuga is not a place for young females to wander around unaccompanied. Try to avoid alleys and opium dens and be aware of your surroundings. Is that understood?"

The students nodded and chorused variations on the theme of "yes."

"Good. Then your first assignment is to follow either Barbossa, Gibbs, Cotton, or Marty, each of whom is going to head to a different pirate drinking hole. Once there, you get to research the causes of piracy by wandering around and seeing if you can't get any drunk pirates to talk to you about why they went on the account. Enjoy the sights, don't split up, and be back at the ship by sundown with your answers," Siren told them.

The assignment proved to be surprisingly and pleasantly educational. Quite a few pirates, as they learned when they compared stories and reasons over dinner, started out as normal sailors. Some had turned pirate when their ship was taken by pirates and they were given the option to join the company. A lot of the men they asked had been born into poverty and turned to crime because it was the only way they could move up in the world as anything other than a servant to the upper-class. While piracy was a risky career, it was vastly more profitable than any honest work they could have gotten. And the oldest occupants of the bar were almost invariably smugglers, mercenaries, and traffickers in illegal goods who moved in the same circles as pirates and in some cases, had once been pirates themselves. The pirate life was not a life for the elderly, but those who had chosen to leave it still had a heck of a lot of pirate in them, even the ones that had been doing honest work for over a decade.

"Hey, Captain, do you know the one-legged pirate with the hook and the eyepatch that sits at the back table at the Shrieking Eel Tavern?" Cate asked.

"Hm? Oh, aye, that's Bloody Pete. Still alive an' cursin', is 'e?" asked Jack, who had finished his dinner and was lying on the bench, tossing his hat in the air and catching it.

"Quite. How did he lose his leg?"

"Run in with a shark off the coast of Ecuador's what I heard. Washin' 'is foot in the saltwater after 'e'd trod on a nail, shark gets a whiff of that blood, and crunches into 'is shin, tears off the bottom of the leg so messily the whole thing's got to be amputated. Was probably really icky." The captain made a face.

"Probably… what about the hand?"

"Oh, 'e lost that one durin' a territorial feud with the Brethren of the Ivory Coast. Captured 'im an' they were intendin' to cut both off, but 'e was rescued by 'is shipmates in time. 'S a nice hook, innit?"

"The only one I've ever seen," Cate admitted, "So I don't know. What happened with the eye then?"

"Bit embarrassing, that one. Seagull droppin'," the captain replied vaguely.

"You can lose your eye from those? What had the seagull been eating, bullets?" Nina demanded incredulously.

"Well, ye see, it was 'is first day with the hook," Jack explained dryly, catching his hat with his foot and balancing it for a moment. There was a short pause and then a mixture of "eeew, that's horrible!" noises and smothered laughter.

"Bet he's glad it was his eye he scratched and not something else," Siren remarked thoughtfully. The male pirates shuddered violently at the thought, to Elizabeth and Anamaria's open amusement.

"I have to go get dessert!" Kelsey suddenly cried. "I almost forgot!" She leapt to her feet and ran to the galley, followed by Summer, with whom she'd shared the cooking duties that night. There was the brief sound of a struggle and a "No! No more for you!" before Kelsey stumbled out with a large tray of chocolate cookies, with Summer in desperate pursuit, crying, "Chocolate!"

Students and pirates alike descended on the tray of cookies with delight. Siren snatched two for herself, then leaped up to help Kelsey hold Summer back.

"You… have… no... idea… how hard it was to… get these… baked," Kelsey confided to her as they dragged the flailing fourteen-year-old inch by inch away from the table. "They kept disappearing every time I turned around. I know she ate at least half of the first batch before it was even in the oven, and I tried to keep her in my sight after that, but I _know _there were more on that plate when I put them all on it half an hour ago."

"Chocolate!" Summer insisted.

"Stay back! Let the other students have some," Siren admonished her.

"But… chocolate! Chocolate! Chocolate! Chocolate chocolate choc-" After a minute or so of this, Barbossa stood up, removed his sash, and gagged her with it, then tied her hands behind her head with the loose ends of it.

"Notice the demonstration o' what I explained earlier," he told the students, sitting back down and eating his cookie calmly. "One more o' the many uses of a sash. Quietin' hysterical women."

"Ghmmfnummf! Ghmmfnummf! Ghneefhh! Nnfhhm mmf!"

"Don't worry, we'll save you one," Kelsey said, patting Summer's shoulder and letting her go.

_ "Wnnh??!"_

They finally had to leave her in the mess hall and take the cookies out onto the deck, as she kept lunging at the table regardless of the fact that she had no way to pick them up. They were in time to see the sun setting over the water. Unlike the orderly murmurr and singsong of the Port Royal fishermen and merchants, Tortuga was a raucous mix of laughter, clatter, gunshots, yells, and snatches of drunken ballads. The pirates finished their cookies and wandered off into the city to find company for the night, and the students were left on the ship to rejoice at the absence of the infernal monkey, who had also wandered off, presumably to find mischief or a lady monkey of negotiable affection. Siren advised the students to go to bed early and went belowdecks herself after untying a hysterical Summer and releasing her from the mess hall.

"Wonder what we're doing tomorrow," Abby remarked idly as she and several other students leaned on the railing and watched a drunken brawl on the docks.

"I heard Anamaria say something about borrowing her friend's boat," Koneka offered, "But we just got here, so I don't know. I guess we'll just have to wait and find out."…


	12. Ch10: Fish, Whores, and Lots of Rum

VARIOUS DISCLAIMERS: Credit for the original fanfiction university that inspired this spinoff goes to Camilla Sandman (also known as Miss Cam, creator of the legendary OFUM) and all her loyal followers. Disney owns PotC and all the characters therein. All future students of the University belong to themselves or to their creators and will be used only by specific request.

ALSO: I've gone fishing only once in my life, 4 or 5 years ago. I caught two fish, one little one that I apologized to profusely and released, then another that was over a foot long and whom I was afraid of. The only thing in this chapter derived from personal experience is a general feeling of bewilderment and panic. Feel free to correct any errors in the actual procedures or terms, because though I did research trawling and Caribbean fish in general, I'm not sure that I learned enough to conceal my complete ignorance of the subject.

Scarlett and Giselle's life stories are entirely made-up, but they are two fairly common examples of the situations of 18th century prostitutes. The info about rum and other alcoholic beverages is historically accurate, though the exact process of its manufacture varies depending on the region. I know this chapter took forever for me to write, much longer than it should have, but it's long and unusually educational, which I hope will do a little to make up for a month of no updates.

The events of the third movie won't take effect in the story-verse until after the school year ends, because it would require some pretty weird rearrangements of everything. If I do a second year as planned, Sao Feng and the pirate brethren will join the staff then to add any relevant lessons to the curriculum.

* * *

The next morning they were dragged out of bed before sunrise by Anamaria, who herded the bleary fangirls across the docks and onto a small, sturdy fishing boat anchored at the other end of the docks.. The piers were decorated with the sprawled figures of unconscious pirates, and the fishermen were readying their boats and nets and calling out brief commands, their weathered faces softened by the dim predawn light. Anamaria turned and looked them over briefly before drawing up the gangplank. 

"Do we have everyone? Good. Today you gonna get some personal experience working on a fishing boat so that if you write characters who are fishermen or fishermen's daughters, you'll at least have some idea of what their lives were like. We're going out, you learn to fish using a net and learn about the fish you catch, and this afternoon when we come back, we sell the fish, split the profits, and you are all free to go shopping." Everyone perked up a bit at that. Money! Shopping!

"Now, raise the sails and cast off. Don't give me those expectant looks, you're doing this yourselves. You can't expect to take over an enemy ship if you're not able to learn out how an unfamiliar ship works." After a bit of disorganized fumbling, they got the sails and the lines sorted out and were moving cleanly out of the harbor. It was quite a bit easier to sail than the Pearl, fewer masts, a simpler rigging, and much less ship to worry about in general. Anamaria stood by the helm and gave Tierza, who was at the tiller (steering), directions, and they sailed around the coastline for ten minutes, then headed into the open sea.

"What we are doing today," Anamaria explained as they dropped a weighted line to check the depth of the water, "Is called trawling, dragging a weighted net behind the boat. Deep-water fishing makes a profitable living for many in the Caribbean because there's deep water not far from the shore on many of the islands."

"Why did we have to go around the island like that?" Kelsey wanted to know.

"Tortuga is right off the coast of Hispaniola. If we'd gone straight, we wouldn't have been sailing into open ocean, we'd be sailing straight towards Port-de-Paix," Angel explained in an undertone. Kelsey nodded.

"What kind of fish are we gonna get?" Kat asked, looking at the net curiously. "Some of the little fish are going to get through this thing."

"Ah, but the point of deep-water fishing is to catch big fish," Anamaria said with a grin. "My father's caught fish bigger than he is in these waters. We have larger nets, for when you want to bring back a load of only the biggest fish, but this time you girls gonna get more out of seeing the variety of things you catch with a smaller meshed net. Now, you have to learn to cast it. All right, you stand here, you here… Holly, I want you to lift that weighted corner there, and Grace, you take that one… Who can tie knots? Becca? Fasten the line here as securely as you can. Sarah, you just stepped into part of the net. You go overboard with it when we cast it, and you gonna feel very foolish …" she strode around them, rapping out instructions and sorting out the nets and lines with practiced speed and efficiency. At that moment, it was very easy to believe that she had once captained her own fishing boat, entirely in her element, even commanding a crew of amateurs. "Now on my signal, hurl the net overboard. Don't drop it over the side, give it a good pitch out away from the boat. Ready… and… cast!" The students threw the big mesh contraption out into the water with a splash.

"And now we move! All standing, make full sail and keep 'er running with the wind! Tighten the line on the leading edge…. Perfect!" The students found themselves following her orders with more coordination and speed on the small fishing boat than they had managed so far on the Pearl. Between adjusting sails and checking lines, they listened to Anamaria's descriptions of other types of fishing used in the Carribean, such as coracle fishing, trammeling, angling, and the use of baited longlines and traps. Several of the students took a genuine interest and soon there was an animated discussion going on, but Abby, who had always thought of fishing as something that other people did and wasn't sure she'd even be able to bring herself to kill a fish, leaned against the mast and tried not to fall back asleep in the soft morning breeze.

They sailed in a wide arc and by midafternoon, they were heading back towards the coast. Just outside the bay, before they entered the shallower water of the port, Anamaria let them haul the net up on deck to see what they'd caught. It rose out of the water slowly, the netting straining to hold its burden of thrashing, dripping bodies.

"It… won't… come… up!"

"Are you sure they can't get out of the net?"

"Of course they can't, the question is can we get it onto the ship?"

"We need more people for this!"

"SHUT UP and PULL HARDER!" Anamaria shouted as the net wobbled violently and started to slide slowly back down towards the sea. "NOW!" Abby gritted her teeth and hauled on the line she held until her arm muscles felt like overstretched rubber bands and the blisters on her palms had opened up and stained the coarse rope with blood and pus.

"Fish," Koneka panted as they began to pull the net over the railing of the side, "Are not supposed to be this heavy. What the crap."

"Oh my god, there's sharks in there! And… oh no, there's a dolphin!"

"The dolphin! Anamaria, there's a dolphin, what do we do?" Linsey asked, running up to it and staring, aghast, as it thrashed against the net, its tail briefly stunning a small shark and a tuna. The dark-skinned woman came over, saw it, and cursed under her breath with concise and heartfelt profanity.

"What any sailor with his wits about him would- we put her back in the water. No, don't pet her. If I were her, I'd be trying to bite us myself. All right, we have to lower the net back into the water partway, and I need one strong swimmer down there with me to lower a corner of the net so the dolphin can get out. Nina, you can do it?" Anamaria glanced over at the thin, dark haired young girl who nodded.

"I was on a swim team not long ago."

"Perfect, dive now and I'll follow when I've helped them get the net back over the side. All right, keep holding it steady. Summer, Grace, Cate, I want you to push on the part of the net that's made it over the side." There was a splash in the background as Nina jumped overboard.

"And you do realize that that this, here in front of me, that you want me to start pushing with my bare hands, is a shark," Grace pointed out, hesitating and pointing at a pair of snapping jaws menacing her through the netting as the others started shoving at the other ends of the bulge of live fish hanging over the deck.

"Hurry, this thing is too heavy," Kat got out between clenched teeth as the others leaned back, straining to keep supporting the weight of the net.

"Cate, you're less easily damaged than the rest of us thanks to spelling mistakes, you handle the shark, let Grace take the other corner," Anamaria snapped out as she wrestled an indignant marlin the size of a german shepard over the side. The pail-skinned student complied, and a suddenly confused shark was pushed tailfirst off the ship by iron hands as Grace did battle with an armful of panicked tuna. There were several groans and grunts as the additional weight pulled on the lines, and Summer and Cate barely managed to catch the one that slid out of Abby and Kelsey's hands before it slipped down with the net. Anamaria dropped her hat on the damp wood panels of the deck and dove into the waves to join Nina.

"A bit lower," she yelled up to the crew. Abby would have liked to see what was going on in the water, but it was all she could do to keep the line from tearing itself out of her grip again and taking half her palms with it in the process. Later, Anamaria described it as four or five minutes, but it felt like several hours before the dolphin was finally safely back in the water and they could haul the net the rest of the way up. As soon as it touched the deck, they collapsed into limp piles of sweaty teenager and watched the fish shimmer in the sunlight. At some point Anamaria and Nina climbed back on board, and Abby listened to their conversation distantly with the small bit of her brain that wasn't busy telling the rest of her body how much it hurt.

"I didn't know fishermen in this century protected dolphins. I mean, I know it's illegal to kill them in 2007, but those laws were only made in the last few decades. Not that I'm not glad we let the poor thing go, but… would most fishing boats do that?"

"Catch and eat the spirits of their fellow sailors lost at sea? Not many, in these parts at least. I had an uncle who refused to bring in a single one, even if he had to cut his nets open and lose half his catch to let them go. When he was a boy, his ship was lost in a storm and the rest of the crew was lost. The mast had fallen on him when it snapped and his leg was broken, but he was rescued by the dolphins. They swam under him and supported him, kept him at the surface so he could breathe, and took him back to the port. The bone healed badly and he walked with a limp for the rest of his days, but he never forgot he owed the spirits his life."

"Do you really believe that they're the spirits of sailors lost at sea, though?" Nina asked curiously. Anamaria gave her a blank look.

"That is like asking, do I really believe in the tides, or do I really believe in God. They are what they are, whether I believe or not. What's wrong with your friends?" she asked, motioning towards the deck strewn with human bodies.

"We're dead," Becca explained in a weak groan.

There were murmurs of agreement from everyone but Sarah, who was grimacing and examining the red marks on her hands, and Angel, who was sitting by the net and taunting a small shark by waving her fingers in front of its face, just out of it's reach.

"Have people really gotten so weak in only a few hundred years?" Angel wanted to know.

"We're just not as used to hard physical labor as you guys are," Linsey explained from where she lay, her damp hair sticking to her face and to the deck and moving as she spoke.

"And that net weighed at least twice the weight of all of us combined," Tierza pointed out from a few feet away, her mind wandering vaguely towards rum and frozen desserts before giving up in exhaustion. "Anyone would have trouble lifting that."

"You've obviously never had to wash, wring out, and carry a pile of soaking wet quilts up two flights of stairs," Sarah said with a wry face. "I never realized how much piracy and housework have in common. Scrubbing floors and decks, lifting heavy stuff, cooking, being shouted at…"

"You scrub floors, you swab decks," Holly corrected idly, using the mast to pull herself upright.

"You sit up and stop whining," Anamaria added helpfully.

"Is that part mandatory?" Koneka asked plaintively.

"You can always choose to swim home," the pirate replied cheerfully. The students dragged themselves up to sitting positions and fixed bloodshot stares at her. "That's better. Now," she turned and reached into the net, pulling out a thrashing fish who was blue on top shading to white underneath and about a yard from its long, pointy nose to its tail.

"This is a marlin. They live in the deeper offshore waters and they are fast swimmers and fierce fighters. They get much bigger than this. Two, three times as big." She put it back in the net and pulled out a slightly smaller fish.

"This is a bonito, also called a frigate mackerel sometimes."

"I thought it was called a tuna," Summer said. It did indeed look similar to The Incredible Mr. Limpet, the infamous tuna entrée from their first supper at Port Royal.

"More compressed body, different coloring, and look in its mouth," Anamaria said, pausing to pry the fish's mouth open. "See how it has no teeth on the top, here? Tuna have teeth top and bottom. Bonito have teeth only on the bottom. And they don't taste as good as tuna."

"_This_ is a tuna. We caught quite a few blackfins like this fellow." A foot-long, light-colored fish with black fins was held up beside the bonito for comparison.

"And here is a barracuda, which will not leap out of my hands and savage you, so you don't have to back away like that, Abby." The long, silvery fish had small fins and an underbite that showed off a nice set of sharp teeth, giving it an awkward yet evil aspect, and it was snapping at the air menacingly.

"But it's scary and it wants to eat me."

"Many things in the ocean want to eat you. You better get used to it. You're made out of meat," she was told calmly. "Now, if you want to see something more dangerous, we also caught a few sharks." Anamaria threw the barracuda back in and walked around the net to point to the shark that Angel had been harrassing.

"This is a spiny dogfish. Don't touch the two spikes on its back, they have a kind of poison in them. And the big one with the long thin tail is a thrasher shark. They get very big and very dangerous; this one looks about half grown." The monster she was referring to was at least twelve feet long and tangled in the net so badly that it was practically immobile, despite the rippling muscles under its smooth gray flesh as it desperately tried to earn its name. There was a yellow-gray squid humorously draped upon its head, tentacles hanging down like a living wig. Several students giggled.

"We're drifting off course a little, I think," Becca noticed.

"Then lesson time is over. Koneka, Sarah, Linsey, get over here and help sort these fish into crates, but if you see a sting ray, an anemone, or a jellyfish, don't touch it. The rest of you are in charge of getting us back to port."

Abby immediately declared herself navigator to give her torn-up hands a rest, and spent the journey back conversing with Tierza, who had been studying the pirate slang dictionary and was eager to share her newfound knowledge.

"… and the word savvy comes from West Indies pidgin, a shortening of _savez-vous_, which is French for 'do you know.'"

"Really? I thought it was just a Jack Sparrow thing."

"I think he made it a Jack Sparrow thing," Tierza decided, pulling the tiller slighty to the right to avoid hitting a rock that was nearing the starboard side of the prow. Abby had been confused by the way the thing seemed to work until she realized that the boat went the opposite way from the way you moved the tiller.

"So what'll you buy with your share of the fish money?" Abby wanted to know.

"Soap," Tierza replied vehemently. "Soap and a hairbrush." She tugged her fingers through her long, dirty-blonde ponytail and made a face when they snagged on the knots. "You?"

"Some sort of handguards or fingerless gloves to protect my hands, and some peppermint candy to get the icky taste out of my mouth in the mornings. And soap is a really good idea, now that you mention it." Though she realized as she said it that she was a lot less bothered by the way she smelled than she had been at the beginning of the term. It was funny what you could get used to, especially when everyone else smelled pretty much the same way.

"What's the weirdest thing you've ever pulled up in a fishing net?" Linsey could be heard asking Anamaria as they tried to wrestle all the squid's arms into the crate.

"Once I pulled up a fish with no eyes and a huge, gaping mouth that took up its whole entire body, filled with long, sharp teeth like knives. Inside of its mouth, it had a dangling bit of glowing light."

"Awesome."

"I was about eleven then, so I hid it among the cargo, then put it on my brother's pillow the next morning with its mouth gaping an inch from his face, then screamed in his ear to wake him up." She flashed a dazzling white grin. "He screamed louder."

That evening, after a long morning of fishing and a long afternoon of fencing lessons, they had eaten dinner at an inn by the docks and were lounging on the beach watching the sun set when Siren found them.

"Hey, all of you get up, I've been looking everywhere for you. We need to be at the Dragon's Head in ten minutes." The students exchanged tired glances and, as one, quietly pretended that she wasn't there. "Have you all gone deaf?" No response. "Hello?"

"No. We haven't had a free moment all day and we're exhausted to the point of mental breakdown." Kelsey explained in a small voice.

"We'll mutiny," Summer added petulantly.

"You can't mutiny while lying down. It doesn't work that way," Siren told them unsympathetically.

"Watch us," Becca replied.

"I am watching you, and I seem to be seeing a group of fangirls who are mutinying in order to avoid attending lessons that deal with sex and rum. This is very strange. Hell must have frozen over when I wasn't looking."

"Sex and rum?" Holly inquired. They all stirred, sitting up.

"It better be good sex," Kat grumbled as they got to their feet reluctantly.

"I thought we weren't allowed to have sex with any of the characters," Cate said, indignant.

"We _are_ allowed to have rum with the characters," Angel pointed out.

"Correct on both counts," Siren acknowledged. "Though you won't be having sex with anyone, it's just part of the subject matter. We're learning about 18th century prostitution, and we're meeting Scarlett and Giselle at the inn for the lesson. There will be no more mysteriously lovely virgin prostitutes needing to be rescued by Jack- not on my watch. Come on, or we'll be late."

The Dragon's Head was a nice inn- somewhat more upscale than most of the places they'd seen on the island, filled with pirate captains and lavishly dressed women vying for the men's attention on the theory that a man who could afford to stay at a finer inn would be willing to pay more for a companion to warm his bed. They found Scarlett and Giselle both sitting on the lap of an aging seaman who seemed to have more gold teeth than real ones. They were laughing, and Giselle was fluttering her fan at him while Scarlett stroked his hair.

Siren waved to get their attention and they made their excuses to their former prey before going over to join the group of students.

"Standard pay for our time teachin' 'em, as we agreed earlier?" Giselle asked, raising an eyebrow at Siren.

"As we agreed," Siren reassured her. A man who had been standing nearby spilled his mug of ale and nearly fell off his stool, his eyes taking in the group of young females and the overheard comment.

"Can I watch?" he asked, eagerly stumbling over his words. Siren and several of the students started to try to explain, but Scarlett cut them off with a louder,

"It'll cost you a shilling."

"Done," the man said, reaching into his money pouch and pulling out a coin. Scarlett tossed it to Giselle. "Take my 'alf an' I don't owe ye sixpence no more."

The students exchanged uncertain glances but didn't dare say anything as they left the inn, followed by the overeager customer.

"Where d'ye want us to start?" Scarlett asked Siren.

"Takin' off the clothes," the customer suggested helpfully.

"How about explaining how you got into prostitution in the first place?" she answered, ignoring him as they walked down the streets past inns and rundown storefronts.

"Me mother was a laundress," Giselle volunteered, "I 'elped 'er when I was a girl, but me father drank 'imself to death an' there wasn't enough money to support the both of us. So a friend of 'ers found me a position as a live-in servant in a gentleman's 'ouse when I was seven. 'E lost 'is status in the navy after a bit, an' the cook there, she got me a place in a merchant's 'ouse where 'er own daughter worked. I was fifteen or so when I started workin' there, an' not one bit of sense in me 'ead. Caught the merchant's fancy, became 'is mistress, then almost two years later, 'is wife found out and before I know it I'm accused of stealin' a silver candlestick that she pawned 'erself. So I was fired an' thrown out into the street with me things in a bag. Didn't get me wages, because that had to go to pay back for what I 'stole.' For a while the kind ol' bugger supported me, got me lodgings in a boarding house an' a bit of pocket money whenever 'e came for a visit, but 'e started showin' up less an' less often, and I started 'avin' to find other gentlemen who would give me the odd shilling or two that I could use to pay the rent. It jes' sort of 'appened, really. No place else fer me to go, an' in these parts, whoring's a profitable trade."

"You mean, you couldn't get work anywhere else after you were kicked out of the merchant's house?" Kelsey wanted to know.

"Not as a servant, no. People are real picky 'bout hirin' a lass who's been accused o' stealin', and did that spiteful woman ever put the word out about me! I could've worked scrubbin' spew off the floors at a pub, maybe, or washin' clothes, or somethin' o' that sort, 'ard, long work that pays almost enough to keep ye fed an' under some sort o' roof, almost but not quite. I knew what that life was like. Lived it the first seven years of me life, didn't I. The dead tired achin' in yer bones eats away at ye, turns the world gray an' empty an' cold. 'Sides, I thought meself real fine back then, seventeen an' pretty an' the mistress of a well-to-do merchant. I wasn't gonna go muckin' about in places like that." Her smile was almost nostalgic, as if looking back on an age of innocence, which was a bit incongruous, Abby thought, while discussing a cold-blooded decision by an abandoned teenage mistress to become a prostitute.

"That's really young to be so totally on your own," she said, trying to imagine what she would have done a year ago in the same situation and failing utterly.

"She'd been on her own since she was seven, really," Siren pointed out. "Besides, in this century, you have to grow up somewhat faster than we did."

"This ain't interestin'," complained the man who had paid a shilling to watch. "Ain't ye gonna start teachin' them the real stuff 'stead o' tellin' yer life story?"

"You're not interested in hearing all about me now, love?" Scarlett asked, pouting at him and stroking his lapels lightly. He blushed a little.

"Yes, sure, I'm interested. Just, ye know... could ye tell us about it naked or somethin'? With demonstrations? Fer the lasses' benefit, o' course." He really was quite drunk, and was slurring his words considerably.

"Of course, darling, of course," Scarlett said comfortingly, then took over the narration, fully clothed and without any sort of demonstration whatsoever, and left him to work it out for himself. "My decision was a bit less a of choice. I was married an' workin' part time as a seamstress, an' me 'usband died. Left me on me own with three 'ungry children. My needlework didn't even pay 'nough to feed us, let alone keep us sleepin' indoors. We were out on the streets. Beggin' don't pay much, an' pickpocketin' just ain't possible when ye've got a two-year-old under one arm and two more kiddies clingin' to yer skirts. I 'ad to leave the kids with me sister, nights, when I went out to work, though now it's 'er daughter who looks after Danny for me. The other two are dead now, Tom a year ago when 'e was runnin' cross the street an' got knocked under a carriage, an' Jenny with a bad cough. She'd always been real sickly. Never 'ad enough to feed 'er when she was little."

The students tried to conceal their horrified reactions to the tragedy of her story and gave the red-haired woman sympathetic looks. Summer touched Scarlett's shoulder briefly, and the drunken spectator sniffled and wiped his nose and eyes on his sleeve.

"Tha's terr'ble."

"That's a woman's life," Scarlett said, the bleak, pinched expression on her face making her look years older than she was as she turned her head towards the lamplight of a nearby shop. "Least I've got me Danny left. 'E's almost nine now. A good boy, too." The lines of her mouth softened a bit. "Wants to be the captain of a ship someday, but all boys that age do, don't they? 'E'll do well enough fer 'imself."

"Hey, Jack Sparrow became a famous pirate captain young. Maybe your son will do the same thing," Cate said encouragingly. The prostitute scowled.

"_Jack Sparrow_ owes me five shillings and a new dress for the one 'e spilled rum on."

"Owes me three shillings, a ruby the size of me thumb, and an apology," added Giselle, looking just as irate.

"A ruby the size of—" Kat started.

"— 'e 'ad a map to an island that supposedly held an ancient king's hoard, including a famous giant ruby. Said when 'e found it, 'e'd bring it back for me. Then 'e leapt out the window, not 'avin' paid fer my services mind you, shouting that he'd see me when he returned. Pirates…" Her blonde curls bounced as she shook her head reprovingly.

"Then again, they tip nicely when they do pay," Scarlett reflected philosophically. "I got a lovely string o' pearls from a captain named Edwards once."

"Was that from 'is pockets while 'e slept?" Giselle's voice was sarcastic, but in an amused, teasing way.

"No, I got six crowns from 'is pockets while 'e slept. The necklace 'e gave before 'e passed out." Scarlett grinned, flashing a mouthful of strong but slightly crooked teeth.

"Ye need to think more o' yer reputation, love," Giselle told her friend.

"Reputation?" Holly asked. "I'd think that would no longer be an issue, considering."

"A lass in our line o' work ain't supposed to steal nothin'," Scarlett explained. "If ye want regular customers, ye got to be honest. If they get robbed, they don't come back to ye next time they're in port, an' neither do their mates."

"So how old are most women when they start in your profession?" Siren asked.

"Any age, really," Giselle answered. "I know a lass whose uncle would rent 'er out to the landlord when she was twelve, when 'e wasn't puttin' it to 'er 'imself, an' then again there's old folks who fall into the trade when their children can't afford to support them no more. 'Taint just women either. Lot o' boys work down by the docks, or in the molly houses. Buggery sells as well as any other type o' sin."

"Molly houses are… brothels?" Nina asked.

"Not quite. Mollies are chaps who consider themselves part of the sisterhood- dress, talk, an' act like women, all powdered and rouged and so on. Lot o' gentlemen visit the molly houses same as the ordinary brothels. 'Taint much of a difference, to many."

"You mean, straight men will go have gay sex just as readily as straight sex?" Tierza said uncertainly. Scarlett and Giselle looked mystified at the terminology.

"She means sodomy, not cheerfulness," Siren clarified. "And until the 19th century or so, sex with another man wasn't considered emasculating unless you were the one _being_ sodomized. Gentlemen who had dalliances with both male and female prostitutes weren't considered homosexuals."

"That's weird," Kat remarked.

"What kind of prostitutes a man frequents isn't something one asks him," Sarah said, her face slightly red. "That type of thing is talked about to other men, at clubs or while gambling. It's not a polite subject."

"Don't blush, lass, I'd bet you know an 'andful o' servants who're open to earning the odd coin on their backs. It ain't so uncommon as that," Scarlett told the younger woman, who nodded reluctantly.

"I've worked with several. But you don't just openly talk about it, it's just kind of… everybody knows but doesn't comment." There was a loud thud and they turned to find that the man who'd paid to watch the class had passed out in the street behind them. Several ragged, dirty-looking children ran over and were rifling through his pockets. The students watched in interest as his pockets were emptied, his rings and earring yanked off, and even his clothes and boots removed by greedy little hands, which then dragged the nearly naked body into an alley and scattered.

"What are they going to do with his clothes?" Koneka asked.

"Sell 'em to a rag dealer or pawnshop, who will pay less than a tenth of its worth if they're lucky. Then they'll either spend the money on something to eat or have it taken off 'em by bigger kids," Giselle answered, idly twisting a blonde curl around her finger. "Speakin' of which, should we show 'em where we get our own clothes?"

Siren shrugged. "Sure, lead the way."

Several streets later, the two women of ill repute herded them into a secondhand shop, the walls lined with racks and barrels of faded and torn finery. There was a collective sigh from the students, who started going through the clothing themselves, fingering thick brocade coat sleeves and full, flouncy skirts. Kelsey pulled a deep blue dress off the rack that looked a little like the one she'd had her character find and realized that unlike the more generalized, one-size-fits-many proportions of modern clothing, it and most of the other gowns in the shop were tailored to the specific figure of their previous owner. Angel was trying on a hat, Kat was twirling around in a long velvet cape, Linsey was examining a pair of satin gloves, and even Siren was wistfully eyeing the merchandise but trying to pretend she wasn't.

"As ye can see, these are castoffs from rich types. Sometimes ye get lucky and find something in perfect condition, thrown away just cause it's no longer the fashion that month. Anyway, it's important to look as high-class as ye can. The more expensive ye're clothes are, the more money they'll be willin' to pay for yer services. Look like a fine lady or royal courtesan, an' ye can name yer price an' set down some guidelines, but go hangin' 'round the alleys an' pubs in a plain, ragged work dress and ye'll be lucky to get a few pennies an' not too much physical damage done to ye," Scarlett explained to the students, who were not really listening.

"Look, I'm a pilgrim!" exclaimed Becca, strutting across the room in a long black coat, a pair of buckled shoes, and a tall black hat. "All I need now is a rifle and a turkey."

"This can be the turkey," Abby said, having discovered a lady's hat that was heaped nearly two feet high with fake flowers, fruits, and garishly dyed plumage. "And the feast. And the scenery as well, I think."

"Do you think they just piled everything within reach on it?" Cate wondered.

"Back to the actual subject-" Siren tried to steer them back on topic, but it was no use.

"Come, good turkey, it is time for you to die."

"But thou cannot harm me! I am a deformed turkey, see the fruit that grows from my head? It is the will of God that I not be slaughtered for thy feast, but made to live amongst thee and thy pilgrim brothers as a reminder of what awaits the ungodly in hell!"

"No! Avast, foul creature! I will smite you with this lacy pink parasol!"

"Did pilgrims say 'avast'?" Nina wondered.

"Does _anyone_ say 'avast' in normal conversation?" countered Summer. Behind her, Holly had pulled a black stocking over one hand and arm and a white one over the other and was making them talk to each other.

"I personally am rooting for the turkey," the black stocking hand confided, looking around at the action and then at its partner like a news commentator.

"But without a turkey, there will be no feast," the white stocking argued, its mouth flapping angrily. "It is a hard cold winter in our Plymouth settlement! We are starving! The turkey must be roasted, or we will surely perish!" the white stocking raved. "But since you are preventing us from eating the turkey, we will have to eat you instead!" The white stocking clamped its mouth over the black stocking's face and started eating it, making ferocious noises as it did so.

Giselle and Scarlett exchanged embarrassed looks and then walked silently out of the shop, pretending they didn't know any of them.

"Hey, you're a turkey, you're not allowed to use a weapon!"

"Not even in self-defense?"

"I'm afraid I must ask you all to leave the shop," said a disapproving voice from behind the counter. A wrinkled, gray-mustached man was glaring at them. Siren slipped out the door, shooting him an apologetic glance.

"Sorry, we were only—"

_"NOW."_ Trying to keep their giggles silent, they put back their costumes and exited the shop, shooting reluctant glances at the racks of gowns as they left.

"And do not return!" the shopkeeper snapped at their retreating backs.

"That's it, I'm going back to the ship," Siren told them as they joined her outside the shop. "You're the captain's problem now. He's been preparing all afternoon to teach tonight's class on rum, so maybe_ he's_ drunk enough to deal with you. Walk down to the Drunken Badger by the docks, and try not to get yourself banned from any other establishments on the way, would you?"

Jack was sitting at a table in the shadowy bar, surrounded by a large assortment of different bottles of rum, arranging them meticulously on the table and talking to them with extravagant gestures as he did so. The students exchanged grins and Holly walked up to him and tapped him on the shoulder. He spun around, hands held up as if to ward her away, eyes wide, and a half-full bottle hanging from his mouth.

"We're here for our rum lesson," the student managed to say with a straight face. He snatched the bottle from his mouth and straightened, giving them a slightly unsteady bow.

"I am honored to be yer instructor for this subject. First, ye must sit down and stop snickerin'." They obeyed more or less, piling onto the bench facing his rum display and the table behind it and trying to bite back their smiles at his serious demeanor.

"This is rum. It is a fine drink that makes the world a wonderful place. Rum is made from sugar cane. After they'd crystallize sugar out of it, see, they still got a heap o' gooey stuff they called _melazas,_ or molasses as we say it. An' they noticed that when they mixed the molassas with water and left it out in the sun, it fermented, savvy? If ye distilled the stuff afterwards, ye got a raw white spirit. An' that was how they invented rum. Now, sugar cane came from someplace in Asia, originally, but everyone liked it, so they were tryin' to grow it everywhere. Then they sailed right into the West Indies, conquered a bunch o' people, an' found out sugar cane grows better 'ere than nearly anywhere else. In fact, sugar an' rum are two o' the reasons we're all 'ere in the Carribean. Because pirates go where the riches go, savvy? An' where d'ye think everyone chose to start up sugar cane plantations when they learned 'ow well it grows an' 'ow easy it is to get land in these parts?"

For a while, it had been sinking into Abby that despite her formal education, she wasn't that much more knowledgeable than most of the people she'd encountered in the eighteenth century. But here, sitting in a rundown pub and listening to a drunken pirate explain the history of a process she barely understood, was when it really hit her: _I'm not really any smarter than these people._

Her own knowledge of geography, economics, and politics- like that of most lifelong natives of any powerful nation- was very good within the borders of her own country and rather vague everywhere else, while Barbossa could not only draw an accurate map of any region he had visited, but expound on their wealth, imports, exports, and alliances at some length. She could solve quadratic equations if she had a pencil and paper, but Jack could calculate vastly more complicated navigational equations in his head with no training but experience. Will could pry open a locked metal-and-wood jail cell using the principles of leverage. She was incapable of passing an introductory level physics class. She had always subconsciously assumed that people in the past had been simpler and more ignorant, and this prejudice had been endlessly reinforced by books, movies, and history classes. But now that she was actually here, she found herself wondering if maybe their lack of technology had meant that they had to think _more_ rather than less.

She suddenly noticed that everyone had gone silent and was looking at her expectantly.

"Sorry, what?" she asked, blushing.

"Name any kind of drink you can think of, and he'll explain why rum is better, healthier, and more practical," Koneka repeated quietly.

"She needs rum," Jack decided and thrust a bottle at her.

"Thank you. Healthier? What about, I don't know, clear mountain spring water?" Abby asked, taking a sip and feeling it warm her throat.

"Anythin' without alcohol goes stale an' starts growin' mold within days. An' even fresh, there's no such thing as perfectly clean water. Ye can't trust the stuff. Did ye think all the fish that live in those clear mountain springs o' yers politely get out of the water when they need to use the privy?"

"Eeew!" the young women shrieked.

"A valid point, ain't it? Anyone else got one?" Jack looked very pleased with himself.

"Wine," Grace suggested.

"Turns to vinegar, sometimes in less'n a year, depending on the location ye're in an' how the cask or bottle is sealed. Here in the Carribean, wine turns faster than it does most other places, savvy? Somethin' about the air, or the weather. Whereas rum stays rum fer years anywhere, even if ye don't store it so carefully."

"But people age bottles of wine for decades and decades in wine cellars," Nina said.

"Only since they had the technology to vacuum-seal it," Tierza pointed out.

"Oh."

"Beer? Ale?" Sarah asked.

"No thank ye, I've got plenty o' rum here as it- ohhh, ye were askin' me to compare it to rum. Right. Goes bad after a few months, which means sometimes it's become undrinkable before ye've even got where ye're going, and forget havin' anythin' to drink on the trip back. An' even when it's fresh, it doesn't taste half as good as rum." He took another few mouthfuls of the rum and smacked his lips to prove his point.

"Whiskey?" Summer proposed.

"It'd work, but it's a bloody nuisance to get hold of enough of it. Sure, ye can get a few pints o' moonshine from any farmer's wife, but a dozen or more barrels of it? Only place it's produced in those kind o' quantities is in monasteries, an' they know when they 'ave a good thing goin'. That much whiskey is only available if ye make a real generous donation to the church on top o' the price o' it, savvy?"

"Gin?" Kelsey contributed. Jack shuddered and made an impressive face that involved screwing up his mouth, sticking out his tongue and wiggling one ear.

_"Gin?_ Mostly only available on the black market these days, an' 'alf the time it's dilluted with turpentine or sulfuric acids. 'Orrible swill. Never touch it unless ye're already drunk. Never."

"Vodka," Kat suggested.

"D'ye 'ave any idea 'ow much that stuff costs?" Jack looked scandalized. "Ye 'ave to get it shipped all the way from Poland. Put together the money ye'd spend on a few voyages worth o' vodka and ye could buy yerself another ship!"

"I thought it came from Russia," Becca commented, to a chorus of agreement from the other students.

"The Russians 'ave somethin' called bread wine, but it's the Polish export vodka. Any more?" Jack looked around at them, smiling fiendishly.

"Mead!" Linsey called out at the same time as Koneka said, "Sake!"

"Both turn faster than grape wine an' cost more'n whiskey," he shot back immediately. "Anyone else got somethin'? No? Then we move on to the agin' of rum. Rum can range in color from white to gold to brown. Fresh out o' the still, rum is clear as water. When ye age it a couple years, it mellows an' starts takin' on color from the wood of the cask, turnin' darker and darker gold until it finally turns brown several more years down the line. Here, everyone try a swig from this bottle-" he pushed forward a large bottle of clear rum- "And this one." The second was a rich golden-brown. "Taste the difference?"

It was hard not to. Drinking the "white" rum was like swallowing fire. The darker rum went down much easier, and you could taste the sweetness of it more.

"What about the darker brown rum?" Cate asked curiously, pointing to a couple bottles that he had skipped over.

"Ah, now there's where ye need to keep an eye out for dishonest rum runners," Jack said, jabbing a ringed finger in the air and then looking at it his hand as if he'd forgotten what he had been doing with it. "Right. Really dark rum. Either it's been aged good an' long, which is ideal, or ye're bein' ripped off an' ye're buyin' pale golden rum that's been doctored up with caramelized sugar or some other type o' colorin'. Ye can tell from the taste- go on, do a shot of it one and ye'll see- but if the seller won't let ye taste it without buyin', 'ere's what ye do. Get a drop or two an' rub it between yer fingers. Go on, do it." He offered them one of the bottles of dark rum, and they passed it around, each taking a quick gulp of the strong stuff, then wetting their forefinger in the bottle and then rubbing the tip against the pad of their thumb. "Now smell yer fingers. What do they smell like?"

"Mine still smell like fish from this morning," Angel said.

"Mine too, even though I know I washed them," Grace groaned, making a face

"Mine too. But that can't be right," Tierza said slowly. "I was pulling lines, and I was steering. I barely touched any fish. But it smells like I did."

"An' that smell is 'ow ye know that it don't come by its coloring honestly," Jack announced smugly. "Picked up the trick from a fellow in a pub in Tobago. Startles the 'eck out o' the fools that try to pass it off as nat'ral. Now this 'ere is genuine aged rum, and it's mine. No touchy, mate." He cradled a dusty bottle of dark rum to his chest like a beloved child, batting Angel's hand away from it.

"Now one more thing it was suggested I talk about. Getting Captain Jack Sparrow drunk and seducing him." In a split second, he suddenly had the most attentive audience the world had ever known. He quickly shuffled a couple steps backwards at the looks in their eyes. "And why it does not work!" he added quickly. Faces fell. "I shall explain. First of all, how can you tell when Captain Jack Sparrow is drunk?" he asked.

"He has a pulse and he's breathing?" Linsey asked innocently.

"Not precisely," the captain corrected her, illustrating his point with obscure but strangely graceful hand motions. "I am not always drunk. I am not even always in the process of becomin' drunk. I am merely in the process of wishin' to be in the process of becomin' drunk, which is an entirely different process altogether, and unfortunately does not involve rum because if it did, I wouldn't be wishin', now would I? So I repeat the original question." They puzzled that out after a moment and then Sarah raised her hand.

"You can tell because you're holding a mostly empty bottle of rum in your hand and swaying when you walk?"

"That's just me sea legs. Ye'll notice I'm quite a bit steadier on me feet on the deck of a ship. What about the way I act? Any way to tell the difference?" They all thought hard for several minutes. The rum was passed around again for inspiration.

"You're more likely to sing when you're drunk?" Cate finally guessed.

"Not really, no. After a battle, after a meal, in the evenings in front of a fire… the best times to get drunk and the best times to sing happen at the same time a lot of the time, savvy?"

"Is it me or is it the rum or is he trying on purpose to be confusing?" Kelsey asked a little fuzzily.

"Not sure," Summer replied, taking another sip of the smooth, golden-brown rum and shaking her head.

"Any way to tell? Any of ye come up with one?"

"Mostly empty bottle in hand," Sarah repeated her previous claim stubbornly, enunciating her words with deliberate clarity as she took another taste of rum.

"Then 'ave we drawn any conclusion from this?" Jack demanded.

"You act the same way drunk as you do sober?" theorized Becca, who had left the rum alone after the first few sips and so was one of the more clearheaded members of the audience at the moment.

"An' if I act the same way when I'm sober, that means that there is no difference in my behavior when I am drunk, which completely invalidates the premise that I would be more vulnerable to seduction in a drunken state, because it means I'm really sober when I'm drunk, thus provin' that yer 'eads are full of fish and bilgewater if ye think seduction under the aforementioned conditions would be easier, savvy?" There was another long pause as they went over what he'd said slowly in their heads.

"Savvy," they admitted one by one, conceding his point.

The rest of the evening was somewhat fragmented and blurry in Abby's memory, but she had the clouded impression of a fascinating conversation they had all had about hands and how conveniently shaped they were for holding bottles of rum. And there had been something about fires, and then they had all sang a song. And another song.

The next morning, she was woken up by the painful thundering of waves against the hull and a whispered request from the hammock next to her to have their head cut off so it would stop hurting.

She actually considered granting it.


	13. Ch11: Ann Bonny and Mary Read, At Last

DISCLAIMER: Camilla Sandman owns the concept of fanfiction universities. Disney owns PotC and the characters therein. The students own themselves. The realm of the dead owns Ann Bonny, Mary Read, and Calico Jack Rackham. I own myself and the following brief rant/apology:

Sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry! I cannot believe how long I have been neglecting you guys! I'll get back to writing more, I promise. Between school and friends' birthdays and driving lessons (that's right, I am learning to drive at age 20. Better late than never.) and financial disasters and selling stuff on ebay to pay back the debts incurred BY those financial disasters (my user name on there is rainstormdragon, if anyone's curious) and... ok, I'm out of excuses. I just kind of forgot about the story for like a month at one point. To anyone who is still reading this, _thank you_ for your loyalty and patience and of course I still want any feedback, critique, or ideas you feel like offering.

You are all awesome.

Siren

Very few people throughout history have had the experience of waking up with a wicked hangover and opening their eyes to see the face of a grinning monkey about a centimeter above their own. The fact that Linsey and Summer were among those privileged few did nothing to make them, or the other hungover students in the cabin that had been woken by their screams, feel particularly blessed. Barbossa, who had devised that particular wake-up-the-students idea, was in an unusually cheerful mood, stomping around the deck singing sea chanteys and mocking the "deplorably messy state" they'd left the ship in last night. So everyone was swabbing decks and recoiling lines and cleaning cannons. After about an hour of halfhearted work on their parts, Gibbs emerged from his cabin, took one look at them, declared himself the ship's medical officer for the morning, and instructed them to swallow a pinch of salt, two spoonfuls of honey, and then drink a large mug of extra watered-down grog. To their surprise, it actually did make them feel quite a bit better, though they would still have preferred to lie down belowdecks for a while rather than go right back to work. Aside from Gibbs' brusque advice, no one seemed at all inclined to sympathize. Elizabeth eyed them with obvious disgust and disapproval, Siren ignored them, Jack still hadn't emerged from his quarters, and Will and the rest of the crew were out enjoying the city.

After lunch, by which time the ship was in such a sparklingly clean state that even Barbossa couldn't find fault with it, Anamaria returned and took pity on them, saying it was high time they got back to discussing their Women at Sea material, which they could do in the hold while helping her take an inventory. Thus they found themselves sorting through supplies and listening to her lecture in the cool, lantern-lit belly of the ship.

"Now Calico Jack Rackham," Anamaria began, "was one of yer more unusual pirate captains in that 'e didn't object to 'avin' women on 'is ship. In fact, the two fiercest pirates in 'is crew, Ann Bonny and Mary Read, were both lasses. Durin' their four short years o' piracy, the trio of 'em became famous as thieves, fighters, an' lovers.

"The story begins with Ann Bonny. Born Ann Cormac, she was the daughter of an Irish lawyer an' 'is servant girl. 'Is wife got 'im locked up when she caught 'im cheatin', an' then, soon as 'e was let go, 'e and the servant lass ran off to South Carolina, where they ran a plantation under their new guise of a respectable married couple. Ann grew up there, ridin' an' shootin' an' runnin' wild same as the boys did. When she was in 'er teens, she met a charmin' but shiftless fellow named James Bonny an' fell in love with 'im. They eloped to the Bahamas together, and then shortly after, 'e returned to 'is former occupation, piracy. But Ann, she weren't so keen on sittin' at 'ome all day, sewin' an' mendin' an' waitin' for 'is ship to come in. So she's hangin' around a bar when along comes Calico Jack. Now he was a successful pirate, the kind 'er 'usband wanted to be, an' captain of 'is own ship as well. The two began an affair, which as ye can imagine didn't make James too 'appy when 'e came back an' found out. Rackham offered to buy 'er from 'im, but instead James got the governor to nail 'em with crim'nal charges. So with no other choice left to 'em, Anne and Rackham ran away to sea. Ann took to piracy like a fish to water, an' soon became as fearsome a corsair as any mon on board. In fact, the only mon she could never quite best was an odd, fierce sort of fellow named Read. This got 'er interest up, an' as she wasn't averse to that kind of a dalliance, she set out to seduce the chap an' found out somethin' no other in the crew 'ad.

"Read's full name was Mary Read, an' 'aving pretended to be a mon for almost 'er whole life, she was good enough at it to fool even other women. She'd been raised as 'er half-brother so she an' 'er mum an' sisters could live off the money the lad would've inherited if 'e 'adn't died. That money ran out when she was fourteen, an' she took a job as a footboy to support 'er family. But she didn't like it there, ran away an' joined the crew of a mon-o'-war and got 'er first taste of the sea. But the conditions on the ship were bad an' the work was dull an' gruelin', an' after a few years she returned to land an' enlisted in the military. She was an exceptional soldier, distinguishin' 'erself in battle with 'er valor an' skill. She rose from infantryman to 'orse regiment, an' it was there that she unexpectedly found love. When she confessed 'er feelin's an' 'er true identity to the mon, 'e accepted her gladly an' the two of 'em left the army an' married, openin' an inn called The Three 'Orseshoes. For the firs' time in 'er adult life, she lived openly as a woman, but she an' 'er mon were 'appy for only a short time. Soon after their marriage, 'e took sick an' died, leavin' 'er on 'er own. When the war ended an' the business faltered at the inn, she tried to go back to the army, but they wouldn't 'ave 'er. Decided to travel to the West Indies, start a new life there. Joined the crew of a ship headin' thereabouts, as a man once again. An' wouldn't ye know it, but that very ship was intercepted midway by Calico Jack.

"Mary, along with the other men on the ship, chose to keep 'er life an' sign on as a member of 'is company. When Ann found out 'er true gender, she told the captain, who, 'avin' one pirate lass on board already, had no objection to Read stayin' on, as a mon or as a woman. Bein' most comfortable passin' fer a mon- after all, t'was what she'd spent 'er life doin'- she chose not to reveal the truth to the crew. But there's talk about exactly what did 'appen between 'er an' Rackham an' Bonny, whether she was their lover at some point or not. If she was, it wasn't a permanent type of thing, fer she found a secret love among the crew. When the fellow got into a quarrel with another crew member an' was challenged to a duel landside, Mary found out an' made 'er own plans. Now neither o' them knew she was a woman, so she picked a fight with the same mon and arranged to duel 'im that same mornin', first thing. She fought the mon an' was 'oldin' 'er own pretty well, but the hour was growin' later an' his next opponent would be arrivin', an' she couldn't let it end in a draw. So she tore open 'er shirt an' while 'e stood there gapin', she slit 'is gullet an' killed 'im. Now that 'er secret was out, she went openly as a woman and married the fellow whose life she'd saved. She even took to wearin' women's clothes on board occasionally, like Anne did, though both of 'em always wore a man's garb when goin' into battle." She paused to set the last crate of hardtack against the wall. "Who's been countin' the apples?"

"We have four dozen left," Angel volunteered. Another odd thing they had noticed about the 18th century was people's occasional tendency to count goods by the dozen. "And some of them are getting kind of soft."

"Let's make apple pies," Grace proposed. "To use up all the soft ones."

"You just want to get Barbossa to notice your cooking again," Kat commented, then quickly ducked as an apple was launched towards the space where her head had been and harmlessly rebounded off a bale of canvas.

"I've not had apple pie in quite a while meself," Anamaria put in approvingly. "I agree. Pie it is."

"How are we on sugar?" Nina asked Holly, who was using her dagger and a broken half of a plank to scratch up a rough tally of how much they had of what.

"Four pounds. We're a little low on flour, though, and for apple pie we'll want cinnamon and nutmeg."

"And butter and raisins," Abby added. "Do we have any brown sugar?"

"Our sugar is brown," Holly replied.

"Yes, it is," Kelsey confirmed after peering into the sack and tasting some, just in case. "What?" she asked at the amused looks from the others. "I'm just making sure."

"Would you like to make sure the flour is still flour?" Koneka asked with a smirk, offering her a mostly empty sack.

"Oh, hush."

"I think she needs a second opinion," Becca commented, stealing a pinch of the sugar herself. "Mmm. Yep. Brown sugar. As I suspected."

"Now that we've settled that, has anyone read ahead enough to tell us about Rackham and his crew's capture and trial?" Anamaria prompted them.

"I did… I never had much of an opportunity to read for pleasure before, and it's been wonderful to read something other than the bible or a shopping list," Sarah said. "All right, now Calico Jack started drinking waaaay too much, and as time went on, Ann and Mary took on more and more of the captain's duties. They were all wanted dead or alive in several countries by then, and the navy managed to trap them. They had no chance against so many ships, so the crew headed belowdecks to finish off the rum and get drunk for one last time. Ann and Mary threatened them, screamed at them, to get up and fight like men, but in the end they were the ones who held the deck against their attackers for as long as they could. The pirates were taken to England for their trials, and the court was shocked by the rest of the crew's accounts of these two women who swore and fought and held their liquor as well as any man. The whole crew was condemned to death. Ann and Mary only escaped hanging by pleading their bellies-"

"By doing what?" Linsey asked.

"Saying they were pregnant. Under law you can't hang a pregnant woman because you'd be killing an innocent child," Cate explained with a reproachful look. "Are you saying that in your time, they hang pregnant women anyway?"

"They don't hang anyone anymore in the 21st century. When someone gets a death sentence, they electrocute them or give them a lethal injection," Summer explained. "And they're on death row for years before the sentence is actually carried out, so if they were pregnant, they'd have had the kid by the time they were scheduled to die."

"What's a lethal injection?" Angel wanted to know.

"They inject something into their veins that kills them instantly," Kat answered.

"Wouldn't it be simpler to just 'ang 'em or slit their throats?" Anamaria wondered.

"That sort of thing is considered cruel," said Tierza doubtfully.

"Killing people usually is," Anamaria pointed out, looking slightly amused. "But never mind that. Getting' back to Ann Bonny an' Mary Read, they were both examined an' judged to be 'bout six months gone wit' child. Mary died of a fever in prison a couple months later, an' Ann, well, somethin' funny was goin' on there. She didn't 'ave a baby for eighteen months, an' after she did, she jus' vanished, an' no one 'eard nothin' of 'er since."

"Wow," a few of them said under their breaths.

"So she's still out there somewhere?" Becca asked, sounding almost hopeful.

"Mos' likely dead by now. They never did find 'er while she lived though." Anamaria put the lid on a mostly full crate of hardtack. Abby considered the possibility of throwing the hardtack overboard when no one was looking, but reluctantly decided that she had better not. She'd always thought from descriptions that it was some sort of cracker or something, but when she'd finally tasted it, it turned out to be a vile hybrid of a biscuit and a rock, tending more towards the rock side of the family.

It took about fifteen minutes to complete the inventory and make a shopping list, including what they'd need for the pie as well as more lantern oil and a few other random supplies. They were heading for the captain's cabin when they were intercepted by Marty.

"Cap'n's tryin' ta recalculate a course- the navy's actin' very strangely since that bastard Norrington gave the heart to Beckett. The course we was gonna take ta yer midterm's location passes too close to one o' their new patrol routes fer comfort. Fer that matter, th' entire thing takes place in what's now a tricky area. I'd leave him be just now. What was it ye needed?"

"Just approval to buy some supplies," Anamaria explained.

"Ohhh. Hmm. Jack'll just say yes without lookin' an' send me or yerself fer that,

but… but the man that'd get them quickest an' cheapest, is the former firs' mate. No point in Jack sendin' 'im, cause 'e'd flat refuse to be ordered around by the cap'n o' what 'e still thinks of as 'is ship. But tell ye what, I bet there's a way ye could get Barbossa ta go."

A few minutes later, Barbossa scanned their list and nodded in agreement.

"Do I sense a scrumptious dessert in th' near future?" he asked them, grinning widely.

"Apple pies, sir." Anamaria verified. "D'ye approve the lot o' this? Can ye get it afore tonight?"

"Aye to both. I was goin' into town regardless. I'll take yer list and a pair o' the lasses to carry packages an' they'll bring the things back soon as I've traded for 'em. Volunteers?"

Predictably, Tierza and Grace raised their hands.

"C'mon then."

Imagine a galley and mess hall filled with thirteen hyper teenage girls in the process of making five apple pies from scratch. Now imagine that the galley is the size of a large walk-in closet and the mess hall not much larger.

Now add Elizabeth in a fairly bossy mood, Jack Sparrow (keeping in mind that he is both considerably hungry and incensed at the British Navy) and Jack, the monkey.

You have now arrived at the reason why the rest of the crew are not going _anywhere near_ the galley or mess hall on the afternoon in question.

"Where's the butter?"

"Holly, did you have the pans?... Then who was it banging on them a minute ago?"

"You don't know how to use a wood stove? Were you raised by wolves? And Koneka, what are you doing with that pie crust?"

"The vile scoundrels 've blocked out an entire stretch from Antigua to Martinique and redirected four bloody trade routes! We'll lose a fortune to their maneuverin'!"

"Captain, I really need that rolling pin back, please, and you kind of just hit Kelsey in the head with it."

"Sarah, help me before this burns!"

"Get your undead sponge out from under my feet!"

"Since when is it _mine_?"

"No, Captain, you aren't supposed to eat it until we-"

"Will someone get this monkey off my head!!"

"Nina, what do I do with the gooey stuff in this bowl?"

"… did I ever tell you about me fight with the cannibal savages four years back on that island? I'd like to see Beckett fight off a clan of cannibals with a rope and a sack of bananas! 'E'll regret the day he stationed 'is men there, I tell ye!"

"I like sugar!!!!"

"Ow! My eye! Someone get the spoon back from that flea-bitten little beast!"

"Stop squabbling and finish cutting those apples!"

"Who has the cinnamon?"

"You should have seen him bargaining, Cate, it was incredible. If he wasn't a pirate, he could have made a killing as a merchant…"

"Did anyone keep track of how long that's been in the oven?"

"You mix the wet into the dry, like this."

"Jack Sparrow! Stop stealing the raisins! Honestly, one would think we never feed you…"

"If someone hypothetically had just sliced her finger open and a little blood fell in the pie filling, would it be inedible now? Hypothetically?"

"Kat, you would need to go bandage your hypothetical finger _right now_, okay? I'll deal with the filling."

"Does anyone else smell smoke?"

"Oh fudge."

"No, pie actually."

"It's an expression, Sarah."

There were pies for dessert that night, and thankfully all but two were not only edible but rather amazingly good. There was great feasting and rejoicing, and the chapter ended and the fic was updated at last.


	14. A Captain's Love, A Student's Nightmare

Note From the Author: I just read all the comments and I love you all so much… I can't believe I left the fic for so long to begin with. I really can't. What was I thinking!? I have resolved to get myself firmly back on track with this. And in the interest of getting to the good parts faster, I am no longer trying to catalog all the activities of every single day.

In response to those who want more James: James is coming, don't worry! He's one of my very favorite characters and he will definitely get his share of time in the spotlight as well as a chance to rant long and hard about the darker aspects of piracy.

In response to those who want more Barbossa: I'll try, but their time on the Black Pearl is drawing near to its end, so after a couple more chapters not only will there be a distinct shortage of Barbossa for some time, the same will be the case for the entire crew, including Jack Sparrow himself, so the fangirls might need some sort of nutritional supplement to get through this period. I do promise that it will be pretty damn educational, funny, and interesting regardless.

In response to 'how did they keep healthy and clean and not all lose their teeth'?: Many of them didn't keep healthy or clean. A lot of people were sick all their lives or died from diseases that nowadays are considered normal and nonthreatening. As for their teeth, though there wasn't toothpaste, some people would use a clean twig to brush their teeth in those times. It doesn't sound too effective, but it sure beats nothing at all. Those who had all of their teeth (most children and young adults still did) probably had grins that were more ivory-to-yellow than pearly white.

Ummm, so what else to update you guys on? I got my driver's license and promptly got into my first accident, which was luckily very minor and no one was hurt, just a paint scratch on the other car because I parked too close and couldn't get out without scraping against them. So I got screamed and cursed at by Mexicans, who called the police and refused to give me their insurance information until the police had come and said that since it happened on private property (a parking lot), no police report could be filed. The whole thing is going to raise my insurance majorly and probably cost me about $500 outright, which I don't have, but if I play my cards right I may be able to borrow it from my boyfriend, who won't charge interest and may not even care if I don't pay him back. I know, lucky me. I was still panicking my butt off at the time, though. My best friend, who I'd been driving to the restaurant to celebrate her 21st birthday, thought it was hilarious. Oh well.

* * *

DISCLAIMER: The pirates belong to Disney, the characters belong to themselves, and the italicized text from "A Captain's Love," (one of the official University recognized worst POTC fanfics in existence, brought to my attention by an observant reader) belongs to writer Lea Summers. I do not recommend reading it as it can cause brain death, seizures, depression, and agonizing fury. The other fics referred to briefly by Abby- including the Beckett one, which believe me, you don't want to EVER read- are ALL out there and I have seen them. Sometimes the internet can be a truly terrible place, children.

* * *

Abby sat leaning against a barrel on the pier, thoughtfully examining her now scarred and callused hands in the midmorning sunlight.

Two weeks fighting, fishing, and working in the Tortuga shipyards did strange things to you. She felt like a different person than the Abby who had watched pirate movies and went to college and burned CDs online. This Abby could scale a mast, bargain with a rum runner in either English or Spanish, identify about twelve different kinds of cargo ship and deduce their weak spots, chart a course between two adjacent islands, and gut a fish without puking. This Abby ate more and drank quite a bit more alcohol and hadn't worried over the state of her hair or her socks for weeks. This Abby had been propositioned at the bar the previous night and instead of immediately retreating to rejoin her friends, had spent a moment considering the possibility of leading him to the alley behind the bar, knocking him unconscious, and taking his money.

She hadn't done it. But she'd considered it.

And she suspected she _could_ have done it. While she was still barely competent at swordfighting, she'd found that she had some natural talent for fighting with other things. Pintel and Ragetti had talked Siren into a class teaching the students how to fight with whatever was at hand, which they firmly maintained was even more crucial than fencing skill and almost as useful as shooting. So far, the girls had learned how to shatter the neck of a bottle to a jagged edge for use in pub brawls (an important skill which, if done wrong, left you clutching the shards of the entire bottle), wrap up the opponent with a rope or chain, block sword attacks with a plank, use a chair as a shield against a charge, and knock the opponent unconscious with anything from a bucket to a rifle butt to a stocking filled with rocks or sand.

The pirates were having a fabulous time, gambling and fighting and disappearing overnight with ladies of ill-repute. To his lusters' dismay, Jack was no exception to this, and they could often be found in the small hours waiting around the hallway outside his cabin to make sure he came home safe. Abby's mindless lust after him had waned somewhat, partly because he was so damned oblivious to it and partly because she was beginning to suspect that it would be a miracle if he _didn't_ have several venereal diseases by now. It was a very effectively lust-quenching thought. (Jack fangirls: Pleasedon'tkillme.)

On the following day, they would be leaving Tortuga and sailing out to sea for their practical midterm. There were various rumors as to what it would be, but so far all they knew was that it would involve fighting of some sort.

"What are you doin' out 'ere?" someone asked from behind her, making her jump. She scrambled to her feet and spun around, then let out a silent sigh of relief upon seeing that it was only Ragetti.

"Hiding from the Inquisition. Somebody got into Siren's cabin and 'borrowed' one of the books she brought over for herself from the 21st century."

Ragetti looked uncomfortable. "Ah. That would explain the screamin' then. And she still 'asn't found it, right?"

Abby flashed him a grin and pulled a paperback out of her shirt. "I'm hiding it for them. I wasn't on the ship when it was stolen, so I'm not under suspicion." She paused. Ragetti's good eye was focused somewhere behind her.

"If I was you, I'd put that away," he said very quietly. Abby quickly shoved it back in her shirt just as a hand grabbed her by the hair and yanked her to her feet.

"Give back. Now," said the voice of death behind her.

"Ow! Give back… give back what?" Abby asked innocently, sucking in her stomach and hoping the shape of the book didn't show under her shirt.

"My book." Siren glared.

"I don't have it," she lied, wincing as the grip on her hair tightened. "Ow. Owww! Stop!" Siren shook her by the hair a couple times, hard, and the paperback tumbled to the weathered wood of the pier. Abby's hair was abruptly released and the indignant student slumped to her knees on the deck, rubbing her scalp, as Siren snatched the book up and cradled it to her chest.

"You poor baby, did those evil students steal you? Did they? It's okay, I've got you back now," she said in a soft voice as if talking to a baby.

"Is it alive?" Ragetti asked hesitantly, his eye darting from her to Abby in confusion.

"It's a _book._" Siren told him as if this explained everything. "Bring her. She will be made an example of."

Three hours later, shackled in the brig, she threw down the sheaf of papers she had been holding in her lap and lunged at the door, thudding against it ineffectively and sliding to the floor, which was stained and grimy from… she didn't want to know what. Judging from her experience in here so far, she was guessing vomit.

"Done readin' yet?" came Anamaria's voice from the other side of the door.

"Noooo," she whined. "It's awful. I can't take any more. She's not even mortal now! And she's using telepathy to talk to her crew, who all have necklaces with pendants shaped like her!!! And-"

"Not my problem. Ye're not gettin' out without 'avin' read it, an' that's just the first of yer tasks."

"I don't want to know what the second is," Abby grumbled, shuddering as she picked the story back up.

_My father fell in love with her as she did him. She was very powerful, she gave up her immortality for him. To be with him. She still had her voice and some powers of hers. But she was mortal. Five years after they married she got pregnant with me which was against the rules even for mortal sirens. She became more like an immortal siren, harsh, nasty, and unloyal. That was her consequence for being pregnant with me. One day she just left him leaving him a note saying she hated him. "_

_There was a long pause after she told everyone that explanation. "She did love him. I know it. Inside she knew it. But Davy. He became cold and heartless….Until he found out about me. "Aila said looking at the ground sadly. She looked back up to Jack staring at her with wide eyes. "What?" She said surprisingly calm._

_"What happened to your mother? " He said._

_"She died when I was just only nineteen. I don't even know how. "_

_"Did you know you were a siren when you met me? "_

_Aila looked at Jack. "No, I didn't. I found out at age twenty-one when a siren is legal age to use and know of her powers."._

"Aaaaaaagh!" Abby bashed her head against a wall. "The child of Davy Jones and an evil mortal/immortal siren is now of legal age to use her powers because she's twenty one?!… Anamaria, have you a scrap of mercy in your damned soul? This is terrible."

"A pirate doesn't steal from 'er shipmates, lass. Read the abomination an' be grateful it wasn't a whippin' ye won yerself."

Abby sighed. "At least a whipping would be over more quickly. Okay, let's say I did want to know. What's my second task after I finish reading this?"

Anamaria chuckled. "You have to write a plot summary."

"But THERE IS NO PLOT!!!"

Three hours later:

"My god, Abby! What did they do to you in there?" Koneka exclaimed, looking up as her fellow student staggered into the cabin, twitching, and fell limply onto the hammock, eyes glazed.

"They made me read…" Abby muttered. "Bad fanfics. So many bad fanfics. The half-siren daughter of Davy Jones. Two telepathic, teleporting sisters who appear on the Pearl with an anime character. The blonde, beautiful pirate goddess of the sea who used to be Davy Jones' girlfriend. Jack's identical twin sister, Jade; yes, I know identical twins are the same gender. The author didn't. A time-traveling psychic gypsy who sees Jack's future. And more. Bad more. More bad." She paused for a moment, a vague look on her face, then nodded. "Bad," she repeated to herself.

"Whoa.Where's Holly? Did they put her in the cell with you?" Nina asked. Holly had been the one to originally steal the book. Siren had found this out about an hour after Abby's capture and taken her down to the brig as well.

"Cell next to mine… heard the screams… and the gagging. Something about… a Beckett sex fic? Must have heard wrong. Give me a cookie please?" Abby looked at the other girls imploringly. "I really need a cookie."

"Er… will hardtack do? The cookies, well, they had chocolate chips in them and we left them out to cool," Grace said, glancing at Becca and Summer, who looked slightly ashamed of themselves. Becca surreptitiously wiped a smear of chocolate from her chin. Abby just moaned.

"Poor thing, I'll make her something," Linsey said, shooting the afflicted one a sympathetic look as she left the cabin.

"Get something for Holly too," Angel suggested.

"Don't bother," Abby told the younger girl flatly. "If it really was a Cutler Beckett sex fic they made her read, she may never eat again."

* * *

Attention Please! This is your first assignment! The students of the university and, for that matter, anyone else who wants to join in the search, are asked to find characters killed for stupid reasons in badly written fics (whether they be on FFnet or elsewhere.) Provide me with a link or sufficient information (title of story and author name would be good) to find them. The one who finds me the most wrongfully slain people gets a.) if they are a student, ownership of the undead sponge or b.) if they are not a student, a cameo appearance in the next chapter. You have one week.

Ready… get set… GO!


	15. The Urple Pearl and the Ungrateful Dead

VARIOUS DISCLAIMERS: Credit for the original fanfiction university that inspired this spinoff goes to Camilla Sandman (also known as Miss Cam, creator of the legendary OFUM) and all her loyal followers. Disney owns PotC and all the characters therein. All students of the University belong to themselves or to their creators.

The Ungrateful Dead belong to, in order of appearance: author Jack's First Mate, "Atlantis"; author Elspeth1, "A Pirate's Life; author PineAppleLint, "Make Him Move On", author fairy pwincess, "The Thorny Rose"; author Bandgirlflute, "Taming The Sea"; author captainjacksparrow987, "The Devil's Perspective"; author Lady of Life and Death, "Pirate Queen of the Carribean"; 13youko, "Captain Darkness"; author mistressofpotc, "A Thief, A Whore, and A Liar"; and author roxymarlatinfire, "Captain Death".

I do not own them. I do not even remotely want to own them. If you are one of the authors who created and killed any of them, and you are reading this right now, I apologize for any embarrasment this may have caused. Please take comfort in knowing that, in acting as horrible warnings to other fanfic writers, they have perhaps undone some of the evil you loosed into the world when you wrote them.

Siren

* * *

They had set out for the voyage to the midterm location first thing the next morning, and though the students and the pirates were sad to leave Tortuga, there was a definite feeling of excitement in the air.

It was midday before they sighted a sail on the horizon. When Abby reported this to the captain and Gibbs, they looked troubled.

"How far did ye say they was, girl?" Jack demanded, furrowing his eyebrows.

"Not very. Why do they have sails that are an eye-searing combination of pink and purple?"

"They ought'a be leagues from 'ere!" Gibbs said, outraged.

"Urple," Jack answered with a shudder. "Color's called urple, dearie. Only good thing that prat Norrington did upon becoming Admiral was t' lobby fer the East India Company to outlaw its use on the seas. Punishable by death."

"Then why are they using it?" Abby wanted to know.

"And why are they not in the arranged meetin' place?!" Gibbs asked the air several feet above Abby's head, looking pained.

"SIREN!" the captain roared so loudly the ship trembled, and there was a faint crash from a distant part of the ship, the sound of feet approaching, and finally Siren stumbled through the hatch, looking confused.

"What's happening? Did I do something?"

"The Urple Pearl's been sighted an' we're not s'posed to cross their course fer more'n an hour! What're they doin' this far North an' East?" _The Urple Pearl?_ Abby mouthed silently to herself, then decided she did not want to know.

"I don't know. I have very little control over them, Captain, really. I'm beginning to think they were a bad idea, but Tia Dalma was having so much fun finding and reanimating them... "

"Reanimating?" another voice asked. Abby turned and saw that Ragetti, Kelsey, and Summer had abandoned their dish washing duties in the mess hall to see what the commotion was all about.

"Reanimatin'?" Gibbs pointed an accusing finger at Siren. "Ye're not tellin' me we're lettin' dead men back aboard the Pearl after we did to win it back from the undead in the firs' place, are ye?"

"If you've trained the students well enough, that shouldn't be a problem. It's the students' task to capture IT from THEM."

"So that's the test!" Kelsey exclaimed thoughtfully. "Cool. Only who are these undead?"

Half an hour later, the ships met and both gangplanks were lowered to meet. The students, with Siren walking ahead of them, crossed to board The Urple Pearl, its sails making them all slightly queasy with their extreme urpleness.

The crew aboard the UP seethed and muttered angrily as the students one by one stepped onto the main deck. A dark-complexioned man with fierce scars on his face and a deep, oozing slice laying open his stomach stepped forward, straightening his hat with one bruised and bloodied hand.

"Captain Mendoza," Siren greeted him with cautious respect. "We were expecting to see you later this afternoon." There was a cackle from the crew and the captain grinned menacingly.

"The crew smelled fangirls."

"We followed the wind," a tall woman behind him dressed in pirate garb cackled, blood seeping from her cracked lips. "And we found you…" The last three words were chanted in a singsong voice that gave Abby the shivers.

"What are they?" Kat whispered from behind her.

"We are the Ungrateful Dead," the crew answered quietly in unison, making the students jump nearly out of their skin. Only a few of them had even heard Kat's question. They crowded farther behind Siren, who looked like she wouldn't mind backing up a little herself.

"We are the Ungrateful Dead. We are the Ungrateful Dead. We are the Ungrateful Dead! We are the Ungrateful Dead!" The crew of the UP repeated the chant, rising in volume with each repetition, like a war cry. A wind stirred up, seemingly from nowhere.

"And why do we walk?" Captain Mendoza shouted to them.

"To avenge our murders!" The crew hissed. Abby did a double take; she could almost swear she thought she'd seen Elizabeth among them.

"And who is our enemy?" The captain demanded, shaking a fist in the air.

"Fanfiction writers! Fangirls! Fangirls!" the undead howled, their eyes glinting as they edged toward the cluster of nervous students, who were now completely surrounded, the whirlwind gaining power.

"The truce is still in effect!" Siren reminded them desperately, trying to keep her hair from being plastered to her face as the rising wind whipped around them.

"Oh, rats," muttered a man with a gunshot wound between his eyes. The wind swirled, then lessened as the crew backed off slightly.

"Who are you? Why do you hate us?" Tierza demanded, swallowing hard as a blood-covered man tilted his head to the side and watched her hungrily, muttering incoherently to himself.

"We are the wrongfully slain…" said a rotting corpse in a gown. Worms rustled in the remains of her hair.

"The arbitrarily slaughtered," continued a young man with a deep gash in his throat.

"The thoughtlessly erased!"

"Misspelled and then brutalized!"

"Destroyed so our offspring could angst!"

"So our lovely young wives could love pirates!"

"Murdered in the defense of the unworthy!"

"Under the pretense of a 'plot'!"

"You're… fanfiction characters?" Holly asked with a growing sense of dread.

"Exactly," Siren answered her quietly. The captain spoke again.

"I am Captain Diego Fuentez Mendoza, slain by an idiot so that my daughter Talia could have a tragic experience and be rescued from a jail cell by Jack Sparrow."

"I," said the young man with the slit throat, "am Robert. I was killed by pirates so that my wife could be taken onto a pirate ship and eventually screw Norrington."

"I am Elizabeth Swann," said the beautifully-gowned corpse. "I died so that a barmaid named Anastasia could seduce Will with her version of 'The Cell Block Tango' from the musical Chicago."

"And I," said the more recently dead Elizabeth who Abby had glimpsed, "Died so Will's 17-year-old stalker could get her hands on him. 'As we all know, Elizabeth's death was sudden.', she quoted bitterly and sarcastically. 'One day, she was dancing around, full of life. The next, she was on her bed, dying. We don't know the exact cause of her death.'" She spat on the deck spitefully.

"I am the Nameless Pirate," The man with the gunshot wound to the face said mournfully. "Forced to serve under an evil, bitchy Mary Sue Captain for years, I finally got up the courage to speak against her and was shot in the face for my trouble. By her _admirer_." He said _admirer_ in a tone normally reserved for words that have to be edited out of Prime Time TV.

"We are Mr. and Mrs. Cassady," another man said, stepping forward with his arm around his wife. "We were killed by pirates while defending our children. Mysteriously, the pirates did not harm them, nor did they bother to take the heirloom jewelry we gave the children as we expired."

"I am the Nameless French-Looking Nobleman," a man in a wig with several bullet holes in him said soberly. "Betrothed to a 13-year-old Sue, who shot me with my own gun because she thought I intended to rape her. I was only leading her downstairs," he finished mournfully.

"I am Mr. Clark," the pirate behind him said. "I was a crew member on the Black Pearl until a fanfic writer caused Barbossa to randomly stab me. My daughter, a lovely little girl called Your Name, was forced to flee the Pearl with only the clothes on her back and a necklace given to her by Jack Sparrow, then also a child and for some reason also on the Black Pearl, which, during his childhood, had not yet been built!" He scowled and drew aside his jacket to show them the sword hilt embedded in his torso.

"I be Lopita Mendes," the creepy pirate woman from earlier said, her eyes rolling around in her head. "And this be my husband who has no name. We were 'killed in an awful mutiny' so our daughter could become an orphan."

There was a brief silence and they all looked at the one man who hadn't spoken.

"Go on, Four. Tell 'em yer story," the nameless Mr. Mendes urged him, rubbing at the edge of an old axe wound and nodding at the pirate beside him.

"Don't wanna," muttered the pirate, staring at his feet. "It's humiliatin'. You told yours. That should be enough."

"Come on, tell them," one of the dead Elizabeths protested. "Let them suffer in the knowledge of what their ilk have done!"

"No!"

"Seaman Pirate, ye're ordered to tell!" Captain Mendoza interrupted brusquely. The stout pirate looked wretched.

"My… my name is #4 Pirate. I was killed by Captain Death." There was a faint but audible snicker from one of the crew. "I dared to approach her, an' she took off 'er eyepatch an' looked at me with 'er "Skull Eye"- don' even ask me what that is- which struck me dead on the spot. 'Cuz that's one o' the powers of Captain Death. As everyone knows." He whimpered softly. "Me last word… me last word was 'Cup-cake!'" He burst into helpless tears, his face burning red. "Then- then all the other pirates bowed down to her! I'm no saint, p'raps, but I never did nothin' in me life ta deserve that kind o' ending to it." He sobbed. Hesitantly, Sarah offered him her handkerchief, which he took and blew his nose in. "It's so bloody ridiculous! Captain Death! Why me?"

"Why you, indeed," Siren said sympathetically, then had to turn around and look over the railing at the ocean to hide a silent fit of hysterical laughter. Abby saw her shaking her head and mouthing the words, 'Captain Death' as tears ran down her face."

"Um… um… you do know that we're not the ones who did all that to you. Right?" Cate asked them fearfully when the silence began to get awkward.

"You are of their kind," the Nameless French-Looking Nobleman said scornfully. "There is little difference."

"And this handkerchief," accused #4 Pirate, giving Sarah a suspicious look, "Smells like Mary Sue."

"I, well, I used to be one. Once. But I'm not anymore! Honestly!" The young woman's face turned white and she moved behind Grace, who looked as if she didn't know whether to reach for her cutlass and defend herself or just throw herself to the side and hide behind something.

"Really? You?" Nina asked, looking surprised. With the possible exception of the nice hair and the dead parents, Sarah did not seem particularly Sue-ish.

"In my creator's first attempt. I don't know much about it. The memories are really fuzzy." She shook her head.

"And you…" one of the Elizabeths hissed at Nina, "You're close to creating one in your own fic. But it will be slain with your death. And your death will be soon."

"Oh, and what are you going to do, decompose on us? You're Elizabeth, you're dead, and by this time, most of us can more than hold our own against a live, healthy Elizabeth," Angel put in, her eyes narrowed.

"If not all of ye can even fight a soft little noblewoman-turned-pirate, how many of ye could match the skills of one who spent their life gambling their life on the blade of a sword or the barrel of a pistol?" the captain asked, fingering his own pistol meaningfully.

"You especially will be a pleasure to kill," Mr. Cassady told Angel, grinning with his gap-toothed, bloody mouth. "You radiate angst. You and that metal thing behind you remind me of our own cursed spawn."

"Enough, everyone!" the voice was Siren's, who had finally regained her composure and turned back to the group. "We will not meet you in battle until you have followed us- at a distance and peacefully!- to the meeting place. Until we reach those waters, the truce remains in power."

"Fine," growled Captain Mendoza, glowering. "But if ye're not off me ship in thirty seconds, the fighting starts now."

To his disappointment, the students immediately bolted and were off the ship in less than twelve seconds. They stared at each other and the Urple Pearl in dread.

"Is this one of the situations referred to in the disclaimer on that contract we signed?" Koneka asked, "You know, the ones where you're not responsible if we're killed?"

"Obviously. But I did talk to Tia Dalma before she started the actual reincarnating, and we at least put some safety measures in place," Siren said, not very reassuringly. "For example, their weapons look perfectly normal to_ them_, but their lead bullets have been replaced with rubber ones. The guns (this means cannons for readers not familiar with ship terminology- what we think of as "guns" would have been referred to as firearms) are in working order but we hid the powder and shot from them, and since you're going to have to capture their ship, I suggest you don't fire our own at them unless you want to have to start repairing leaks and boarding off compartments the moment the battle's won. Normally that wouldn't be a concern, but it will be this time because you're sailing that ship back to Port Royal. Now don't get overconfident; they're far from harmless. Rubber bullets are much less dangerous than lead ones, but they'll bruise the hell out of you and fired at close range at, for example, your face, head, spine, or throat, they can cause nasty and- in the 18th century- potentially deadly injuries. Plus, they can still kick, scratch, bite, punch, and claw you, and though we tried to do something with their swords and daggers, make them more like wooden practice sword blades, the magic on them only works intermittently, so you may get cut up a bit as well. The legends are apparently true: iron is a major pain in the butt to enchant. So watch out for yourselves and watch out for each other."

"Any hints on how to kill dead people?" Becca asked hopefully.

"Ye can't,"Jack helpfully contributed, "Seein' as they're already dead an' all. But ye can keep 'em out o' yer way. Tie 'em to somethin' heavy an' throw 'em over the side. Pin them to the deck with a sword- not _my_ deck if ye don't 'ave to, mind. 'Ell, just tie 'em up an' throw 'em belowdecks. Or cut off their 'eads- the body ain't so dangerous when it can't see what it's about."

"Like the Highlander," Abby said with an ironic laugh. "There can be only one."

"Immortals! Speaking of immortals!" Siren burst out. "I almost forgot. A couple of you are. Immortal, that is. There was what you might call a clerical error processing the enrollment forms. Some of you, on the forms, said you could come back from the dead. So, um, you sort of can. I'm not sure of the mechanics of it, but Kelsey, Kat, Summer, and Tierza are not as mortal as they might otherwise have been."

"You _almost forgot?_" Linsey demanded. "How do you _almost forget_ that some of us are immortal?!"

"I don't know. How do some of you occasionally forget that you're _not_ immortal, Miss I Want to Hang By My Knees From The Crow's Nest?"

"Oh, burn," chuckled Barbossa, who had picked up a few expressions from the students. Linsey turned a dull red.

"Have we just been placed on the front lines by default?" Kelsey wondered.

"Yes," was Angel's thoughtful answer. "The first to attack almost always take the most damage. If any of us are going to die, it had better be you guys, because the rest of us don't get the option of coming back."

"Cate too," suggested Holly. "She may not be immortal, but she's practically a suit of armor with that pail skin of hers."

"Immortal or not," Summer said, staring at the enemy ship trailing them, "I can't say I feel particularly safe."

"Well, I don't feel safe either," Kat said happily, taking out her knife and beginning to sharpen it.

"You don't?" Koneka asked, raising an eyebrow.

"No. All of a sudden, I feel extremely dangerous."

An hour later, with all but themselves belowdecks, the students stood nervously at the prow of the ship and watched as the Vessel of Urple Terror approached them.

"Almost within musket range," Tierza said regretfully. "Too bad shooting them wouldn't do much."

"Come make explode-y things!" Grace urged her. Most of the others were already helping pour powder and measure wicks, except for Nina and Becca, who were swimming underwater towards the Urple Pearl carrying ropes and grappling hooks, and Summer, who was minding the wheel so they didn't veer off course.

_Grenadoes_ were a rather wicked and very pirate-esque form of artillery (is pirate-esque a word?), consisting of small clay, wood, or glass containers filled with a mixture of powder and scraps of iron, nails, shards of glass, and basically anything else you wouldn't want flying through the air at you at a high speed. They were completed with a fuse, which would be lit and thrown onto the deck of the enemy where, if all went as planned, they would explode, sending the nails, glass shards, etc. flying in every direction.

They probably wouldn't kill or seriously damage the undead crew, but they were kind of fun anyway and would definitely serve as a distraction once they were at a closer range. Because while the Ungrateful Dead couldn't be effectively shot, they could. And since stinkpots (containers full of burning sulfur, which worked similarly to tear gas) and flaming oil-soaked rags had been dismissed as more likely to damage them than their undead opponents, and the cannons and swivel guns were out because they needed the ship in one piece, the grenadoes were pretty much the only artillery they'd be using.

And the two ships closed on each other.

Abby was suddenly keenly aware of the absence of a soundtrack. They needed a soundtrack right now, to fill the tense spaces in the air, to tie together the moments of waiting as they crouched behind the bullwarks to avoid enemy fire, grenadoes in hand Then she realized they had a more pressing problem than the lack of theme music.

"Guys, has anyone considered how we're going to light these things?"

Blank and terrible silence. They were maybe two hundred feet from the Urple Pearl, not yet within accurate throwing distance, but far too close to be discovering a problem like this just now. Sarah scrambled to the closest hatch and pounded on it.

"Captain! Will! Siren! Does anyone down there have matches?!"

"Er… yes?"

"We need matches! For the grenadoes!"

Abby, pressing her ear to the deck to try and hear what was going on, caught several surprised exclamations and chuckles.

"They forgot to take matches."

"You lasses didn't think of this 'til now?"

"I'm beginning to think you're right, Elizabeth. They really are a bit daft."

"Oh, bugger, someone climb up there and pass the twits some matches. Where are they?"

"Try the galley, perhaps. And bring us some grub while ye're in there, would ye, mate?"

Sarah's inadvertant flinch at the report of a musket saved her by only centimeters from a bullet in the head.

"Forget the matches, get back here!" Koneka urged her, and Sarah gladly obeyed.

"Forget the grenadoes altogether," Tierza ordered them all. "We're too late. Kat, Summer, Kelsey, Cate, we need to get ready. Now!" There was a desperate scramble as they snatched up long planks of wood. Then the enemy started shooting for real and, well, it all became chaos. Abby was vaguely aware of the immortal students crossing the planks and leaping onto the Urple Pearl before one of the dead Elizabeths shrieked and flung herself across the narrowing gap between the ships to grasp at, then clamber over the bullwarks of the Black Pearl. Abby intercepted the zombie-thing and tried to behead it, chopping at its neck like a demented butcher as she dodged its lunges.

What happened to beheading someone with a single stroke? If people were not as well nourished in these times, why were their spines so damned hard to—she struck a seventh time and finally was rewarded by a sickening crunch. Hope filled her and she lowered her cutlass a few inches only to be tackled by her opponent, whose head lolled disgustingly, still attatched by a thick, bloody hunk of muscle. Abby felt a bony hand close on her sword arm and swung the sand-filled stocking (or, as she often referred to it, her sock full o' rocks) in her left hand at her attacker, hitting its face with a solid thunk. Using her sword as a club in a way that would have made Will cringe, she battered the fiend away with sheer, desperate whacks until she finally had an angle from which she could sever what remained of the neck. As it tumbled to the deck, the body stumbled and then blindly groped at the air. Abby kicked it over and turned to chop at the legs of an enemy pirate who was backing Grace towards the mast as they fought. It took several long, bloody, exhausting minutes to disable this one and push him overboard, and then they split up without exchanging a word, Grace to head off a Sue's dead parent who had just leapt onto the ship and Abby across a beam and onto the Urple Pearl.

If you ran across fast enough, you had no time to lose your balance, part of her brain reminded her as she crossed the space between the ships in three fast steps. Grabbing a loose line, she swung down and found herself face to face with the Nameless French-Looking Nobleman and both of the Mendes pirates, guns and swords drawn.

Only sheer luck and the fact that Angel had just skewered one of them from behind gave her time to dodge away. The Frenchman's pistol fired but missed, as often happened at such close range with multi-barreled weapons, and she hit the ground and rolled into the legs of two grapplers in her attempt to get away. Seeing that one of the pairs of feet was wearing Adidas, she wrapped her arms around the other pair and yanked them off their feet, causing them to fall on her, which, while it was painful and not exactly the intended effect, at least provided her partial cover from more bullets. In the back of her mind, a sweeter, more civilized Abby could scarcely believe she was thinking like this, but that voice was drowned in a white hot, jarring pain as the undead man on top of her shoved his knife into her side. She felt the shock as the blade struck her rib and skidded slightly, and then, blotches of red beginning to obcure her vision, she dropped her sword, reached for his hair with both hands, and yanked him off her by it with a strength she hadn't known she had. The knife was wrenched out of her with the motion. Then she only knew that a sword had come down from somewhere above and pinned her attacker to the deck, and a slippery-wet hand had reached down to help her up. She took it, scrabbling for her cutlass with the other hand. A startling heat flowed down her side- later she would realize that it had been the warmth of gushing blood- as she rose to her feet, her heart pounding in her ears, trembling uncontrollably. The hand was attatched to a soaking wet and wide-eyed Becca, who made an incoherent attempt at speech, then just muttered "Well then," and dashed off, drawing her knife and aiming a wild stab at the head of an undead crew member who was crouched in the cockpit, reloading his flintlock.

Abby swayed, incredibly lightheaded for a moment, but retained enough of her wits to block when the #4 Pirate swung an axe at her. She stumbled backwards into a barrel, reached back for balance, and found an apple-sized ball of iron under her hand. Chain shot, she registered vaguely. (AN: Chain shot: two iron balls connected by a length of chain.) She grabbed it and swung it at the undead brigand, the iron ball connecting with his nose in a satisfying crunch followed by the crack as its mate hit his temple. He made a gurgling noise which only got worse as she followed up with a sword stroke to the neck. The pain was dulling from the sheer flow of adrenaline in her, but it still seared her body with every motion as she hacked away at his neck until he crumbled limply to the deck. Everything around her seemed like it was moving too fast. She sheathed her sword and replaced it with her trusty sock full o' rocks, which she had tucked into her belt at some point, keeping the chain shot in her other hand. Then- later she would realize she was slightly in shock- she stood there and watched her blood drip onto the deck for a long, queasy moment. Then her focus was drawn to a yelp coming from very close by. Linsey had fallen, white-faced, to the deck, and the undead captain was standing over her, his sword blade moving rapidly towards her stomach. After her experience with the dagger, she didn't trust the attempted damage-minimizing spells at all, and while she didn't think she'd be able to keep doing this much longer before she crawled into a corner and started whimpering, she nevertheless leapt towards them and tried to kick the captain in the kneecap. She got his shin on the first try, but he paused and turned towards her and Linsey took advantage of that moment to scramble backwards on her hands and her bottom and retrieve her own sword. The second kick did connect and his kneecap shattered at the impact of her foot. At the same time, Linsey stabbed him in the thigh. He went down with an infuriated howl, and Abby jumped on him, fumbling over the act of wrenching his weapons away from him and throwing them out of his reach. Her side had mostly stopped bleeding, she noticed, but her hands still shook violently. She thrust her cutlass through the disarmed pirate captain's stomach and then sat down beside him on the deck. Her vision wavered for a minute and she wondered if she would faint.

Instead, she found herself violently puking all over the place.

_Being wounded in battle,_ she thought,- so tired and dizzy that she let herself collapse face down onto the bloody planks, some of her hair falling into her own vomit-_ seems to be much grosser than most of us fanfic writers would have hoped_. Not that she was particularly interested in eliciting lust from anyone at the moment. Feeling oddly detatched, she hoped it was at least a little similar to her original conception of injury so that she could at least pass out and let the blackness drown the pain coming from her body.

No such luck, however as the end of the battle happened around her, someone did accidentally kick her prone body as they stumbled sideways. She heard some sort of cheering and deduced that they had won, then someone grabbed her shoulder and turned her over. She opened her eyes and saw Holly, who despite looking severely disheveled and covered with bruises, was inexplicably smiling.

"We won! Are you al— oh my—Abby's stabbed too!" The grin disappeared and was replaced by concern. "Did the blade penetrate anything important?"

"Yes. My flesh," she muttered snippily, then shook her head and tried to answer the question as it had been meant. "It jabbed my rib and it hurts like hell, but it didn't go between my ribs. My lungs and heart and all that are fine." Then something else said registered. "What do you mean, too? Who else was stabbed? Where? Are they okay?"

"Kelsey's the worst," Holly said as she helped Abby get to her feet. "In the shoulder, rather deep. Painful but not life-threatening. Angel's got a nasty cut on her stomach, but it's not too deep and should be okay."

"And the others?"She asked, observing the wide range of reactions to the battle- some of them were jumping up and down and screaming "We did it! We won!", some looked as sick and haunted by the carnage as Abby felt, and a couple were just sitting or lying around nursing their wounds and bruises.

"Well, Cate's pail skin got badly dented- do you think perhaps Will could fix her?- and Linsey's ankle is either sprained or broken. Sarah's got two broken fingers and one very badly bruised one, and Nina got knocked unconscious by a swinging boom, but her pupils aren't dilated weird, so we think she'll be okay. Other than that, we've all got a ton of cuts, scrapes, and bruises and getting up tomorrow morning will not be fun. Do you think you can stand if I let go of you? I'm going back onto the Black Pearl to get the staff members so they can help with the injured and help us dispose of the bodies."

"Go ahead," Abby agreed tiredly.

Twenty minutes later, Abby was lying on a bench in the mess hall with her head pillowed on her ripped and bloodstained shirt, wincing as Marty stitched the gash across her ribs, though it had hurt much more when they cleaned it. She could hear Kelsey whimpering now as Gibbs and Siren worked on cleaning out the stab wound on her shoulder.

"For a first battle, it was fair enough," Marty told her as he jabbed the needle through her skin. "All alive, no lost limbs, an' over quick enough."

"Quick? Are you joking?"

"No, only half an hour before ye'd got 'em all."

"It felt like _forever_."

"It does sometimes. Hold still, jes' one more, then ye're done."

"Will I have a scar?"

"A small one. It should fade with time. Now, no fightin' or rough work for a few days, or ye'll tear the stitches." The small man stepped back and surveyed his work. "Not bad, not bad at all." He shook his head and grinned at her, his eyes wandering upward from the scar.

"Yer booblies ain't bad neither."

Chasing the dwarf across the ship and giving him a black eye tore every one of her stitches open, but afterward, she felt much better.


	16. Ch14: Coffee, Hysteria, & Incarceration

DISCLAIMER: "It hurts to be alone on the shelf, it's worse to fall in love by yourself, but the one I love belongs to somebody else, the one I love belongs to somebody else..."

Hey, I updated after only a week! And this on a week where I'm busy with job-hunting, ebay selling, and telling myself I'm going to do my schoolwork today. But for some reason, this bit of the story just grabbed me and wouldn't let go. The story and a craving for Starbucks. Which sort of flowed over into the story, with interesting result. Anyway, I figured you guys needed a bit of a party to cheer things up after the battle.

We also see Norrington once again in this chapter! As I've admitted before, I have something of a soft spot for him. Parts of his personality remind me of myself. (Cynical, sarcastic. Proud and confident almost to the point of arrogance. Too distanced from others and locked in by his own sense of what's expected of him to really open up to people, but strangely vulnerable when he actually does.) Also, and equally importantly, he is_ hot_ when he doesn't have that wig on. Granted, he's not the hottest character, but he's one of the most complex and I like that.

The lyrics occasionally interspersed in the second third of the chapter come from a playlist I made a while back for the purpose of listening to while I write this, titled "Piracy." 111 songs that mention the sea, drowning, sailors, ships, the undead, rebellion, piracy, and battles. I had to share some of it with you guys. The lyrics listed here are from, in order of appearance, "Ghost Love Score"- Nightwish, "Shanty for the Atherusa"- The Decemberists (they have a LOT of great nautical/historical-themed, incredible songs.), "Red Sea" - Thrice , "Sweet Dreams Are Made of These" - the Eurythmics, "I Will Play My Game Beneath the Spin Lights" - Brand New, and "Monkey" - Low (An odd song. I am probably the ONLY person who thinks immediately of PotC when I hear it, or at least I was. Now I have tainted your minds as well. Muhahaha.) For anyone who must have this song, it's available for free download on www(.)downloads(.)com. The rest are available for free download on most illegal MP3 downloading networks/programs. Remember, children, music piracy is piracy too! XD

Siren

* * *

From a dream of a lavish breakfast, Abby woke the following morning to the sound of running feet and excited conversation. Her brain tried to reason this out, registered that they had fought a gory, exhausting battle the previous day and were now crewing the Urple Pearl back to Port Royal, and dismissed the sounds as part of the soundtrack to another strange dream.

"… and there's doughnuts and waffles and bacon and actual Starbucks coffee!"

Another strange, _good_ dream, she silently amended to herself, curling deeper into her blankets.

"Abby, Kat, Angel, wake _up_!"

"No. I'm having a dream about Starbucks coffee," Abby muttered, keeping her eyes shut tight so the dream wouldn't fade away. The idea of the food and coffee was still so vivid she could almost smell it.

"It's not a dream! We've got it, you can come have some! And Krispy Kremes, and real food! Real 21st century food!"

"Not a funny joke, Koneka," Abby opened one eye to give the other girl a reproachful half-stare, then both eyes flew open. "What is that. That cup. In your hand."

"Grande mocha cappuccino with whipped cream. And the other hand is holding French toast with real, fresh butter. Welcome to paradise!"

An arm reached out from under the blanket-covered lump in the hammock to her right and snatched the French toast. Koneka let out an indignant noise, while there was minor avalanche of hammock and blanket caused by Kat trying to leap to her feet while still wrapped tightly in both.

"It IS real!" she managed, mouth full of toast, and scrambled clumsily out of the open ceiling hatch one-handed, the other hand clutching her stolen breakfast.

Abby dragged herself out of her hammock, still confused, and heard Angel doing the same behind her.

"What's a mocha cappuccino…?" the 18th century native asked.

"Coffee, chocolate, hot milk, and sugar."

"Make it with rum instead of milk and you'd have something we could happily live on for the rest of our lives," Angel mused, making Abby laugh.

They hurried to the mess hall and galley, which were filled with wonderful, wonderful things that Abby had not expected to see for quite some time. The mess hall table was piled with Krispy Kreme boxes, plates of waffles, french toast, bagels, sausage links, and bacon, dishes of butter and cream cheese, and what looked like several dozen steaming cups with the Starbucks logo on them. Pintel and Ragetti seemed to be trying to sample all the different flavors.

"That a naked lady in a crown on there? How's that got to do with coffee?"

"An' why's it all foamy an' creamy an' syrupy? S' good, though."

"You're eating all my whipped cream, give it back." Tierza interrupted their musings to reclaim her double mocha. A month ago, she might have been hesitant to take back a cup two decidedly unhygeinic pirates had been drinking from, but now, sitting in the mess hall with a black eye and several scrapes on her arms from her first battle…. well, life was short, germs were microscopic, and that was HER coffee.

One of the things this kind of life did not do, however, was make this kind of meal possible. Abby resolved that she'd figure it out later. After breakfast.

Abby grabbed a plate and began to pile it high with goodies, watching in amusement as the staff members sampled this modern breakfast. Jack had dumped the vast majority of the bacon on his plate and was guarding it greedily from everyone else. Elizabeth was trying to eat a doughnut with a fork, and Marty was spreading butter on his bagel with one of the daggers they'd looted from their undead foes. Even Barbossa had foregone his usual apple to indulge in these new treats, and was in the process of stealthily comandeering some of Jack's bacon hoard.

Anamaria bit into a Boston Cream doughnut and sighed in bliss. "When ye go back, ye take me wit' you, you hear?"

"Women and their chocolate," Will said, shaking his head. "It has to be a mild form of hysteria. I thought Elizabeth was going to bite me when I reached for her chocolate doughnut."

"I _was_ going to bite you, dear. You were between me and it. And it had that melted sugar glaze on it," Elizabeth responded in her own defense.

"Completely understandable," Becca told her, and Summer made a noise indicating her agreement around a forkful of sausage.

"Besides, hysteria as you think of it in this time has been medically proven not to exist," Siren added, licking whipped cream off her straw.

"What do you mean?" Nina wanted to know. "People still become hysterical in the 21st century."

"The original meaning was rather different. They used to think a woman became 'hysterical' because her womb had travelled up through her body and taking over her brain."

Abby, who had been swallowing a sip of coffee when Siren had said that, nearly snorted it out her nose. "What??"

"The recognized professional diagnosis in 18th century medicine for hysteria," she was told. "Not kidding."

"It's changed quite a bit then, I take it" Barbossa said, drinking down the last of his Espresso Macchiato and reaching for another cup. He raised his eyebrow in an unspoken question.

"Yes. What we refer to in our time as hysteria is caused by emotional stress and can happen in men too. The womb does not control the brain or move around inside the body any more than, I don't know, your liver would."

"Not that I lack respect fer newfangled medical advances," Marty said uncomfortably, "But we don't want t' hear about yer… wombs… while we're eatin'."

"Hear, hear," said Pintel, raising his coffee in support of that sentiment.

"So, where'd all the modern food come from, anyway?" Grace asked Siren, changing the subject after a brief awkward moment.

"It's your reward for passing the midterm. One entire day of food from home, freedom, and partying. Just don't throw anything anachronistic into the ocean. The containers get taken back to our world and our time. We do not pollute the storyverse."

"Yes, ye do. Fanfics, right?" Ragetti snickered, then flinched at indignant stares from every one of the students.

"We wrote perfectly okay fanfics," Linsey muttered.

"And we will again. They'll just be more accurate," Kelsey said defiantly.

"Besides, I resent that. I never wrote a word of fanfiction in my life," Sarah said defensively. "Oh, I love this cheese. It's so fresh and smooth."

"It's cream cheese. You're technically supposed to spread it on the bagel," Holly told her. "Though if it makes you happy to just dig in with your spoon, by all means."

"It does make me happy."

-

It was a luscious fantasy of a day. The decks of the Black and the Urple Pearl had both been lowered so one could wander from one ship to the other. Classes were cancelled. There were pizza and soda and chocolate bars and Chinese take-out later on, and staff and students alike got some badly-needed relaxation.

_We used to swim the same moonlight waters, Oceans away from the wakeful day... My fall will be for you, my love will be in you, if you be the one to cut me, I'll bleed forever... _

There was also a stereo system and mix CDs of rock music, chosen with ironic attention to nautical and piratical themes. Holly and Linsey taught the Captain how to headbang. Now they were lying on the deck, watching the sunset, listening to music, and talking idly among themselves.

"You know, in a strange way, I'm beginning to get used to those sails," Cate observed, metal fingers tapping softly on the deck to the beat of the music in the background.

_… And if you listen quiet, you can hear the footsteps on the cross street; The ghosts of sailors past, their spectral bodies clinging to the shroud… _

"I will never get used to those sails," Kat said, sipping her rum and coke and thinking idly that the moment called for a small paper umbrella in her drink as well. "Never," she repeated to emphasize the point.

"The sponge likes me," Angel commented, glancing at the undead sea creature, who was either curled at her feet contentedly or dead. (It was often hard to distinguish the two states, since it didn't breathe and rarely moved once it found a comfortable spot.)

"The sponge likes everyone. And everything. It lives a very Zen existence," Tierza said with a smile.

"No, I mean it's been following me around ever since we left Tortuga. What is Zen, anyway?"

"It's," Tierza paused, trying to think of the best way to explain it. "Well…"

"It's what happens when you take a lot of monks, shave their heads, and send them up to live isolated on a mountaintop for dozens of years with nothing but rice to eat," Koneka said, summing up nearly a century of bad movies and comics.

"Ye mean, they go mad, raid the nearest village, slaughter everyone there, and cannibalize them?" asked Barbossa, who was lying nearby the hammock he had slung up on the deck for himself earlier that day. There was a startled silence followed by giggles.

"More like, they become one with the universe," Kelsey clarified, looking the other way to hide her grin.

"An' what the 'ell good does that do?"

"No one knows," Nina said, "But if it didn't do them any good, you'd think they _would_ start raiding villages, wouldn't you?"

"Ye'd think," he agreed dubiously.

_I know the ocean speaks, I've heard her call to me. And smiling in my dreams, she whispers still… Can you see the sky turn red, as morning light creeps over me? Know tonight we'll make our bed, at the bottom of the sea?_

"Where do you think you're going?" they heard Elizabeth saying loudly from belowdecks, and those who turned their heads quickly enough saw a human-shaped blur racing towards the mast and up it, into the crow's nest, where it crouched, peeking over the edge after a moment and revealing itself to be a certain blacksmith. "Wait a moment! I'm not- damn it!" A moment later, she poked her head up through a hatch and let out her breath in exasperation. "Will! Come back here! I'm not done with you!"

That produced a couple wolf whistles and cheers from the pirates, and they and the students began to laugh uproariously. After a second of bewilderment, Elizabeth realized what she had said and turned bright red.

"I was fixing his hair is all," she said stiffly as she climbed all the way up onto the deck.

"Tryin' to mess it up a bit, more like," Jack added, snickering, then held his hands up in front of him and stepped back, wide-eyed as she spun around to glare at him. "Not to imply that ye don't have a perfect right to vent yer sexual frustrations on the boy! It's none o' my business! None o' my business at all!" Elizabeth snarled wordlessly, then ignored him to turn back towards the crow's nest and its contents.

"Will, would you just come back down here. I was only trying to tidy you up a little," she said comfortingly, as if speaking to a small child.

"But, but, look over there!" Will replied about twice as fast as he usually spoke, pointing to what appeared to be… the ocean… with a shaky hand. "Isn't it amazing?"

_... Sweet dreams are made of these... Who am I to disagree... Travel the world and the seven seas... Everybody's looking for something..._

"He's actually pretty hot with his hair loose like that," Becca observed quietly, tilting her head and looking up towards the crow's nest.

"I second that," Summer agreed.

"He's wonderful," Sarah added very softly, almost as if to herself.

"I don't wanna come down because there's stuff up here and you keep pulling my hair and it hurts and don't you see them?" Will was telling Elizabeth. His words still sounded like they were coming out of his mouth too quickly, and he was twitching slightly.

"Yes, you do. No, I wasn't. And there's nothing out there. It's the sun shining off the water."

"It's pretty!"

_And the coastline is quiet, while we're quietly losing control... And we're silent but sure we invented the cure that will wash out the memories of her..._

"How many cups of coffee has he had?" Grace asked suddenly. Elizabeth thought for a moment.

"I think… twelve?" She ran a hand through slightly tangled golden brown hair as she appeared to be counting in her head. "Yeah. Twelve. And some of that weird green bubbly stuff in the galley."

"Mountain Dew," Siren said gravely. "That would explain it, all right. Will!" she yelled. "Hey, Will!"

"Hi," Will answered from above as he tried to pace back and forth in a space too small to pace back and forth in. "I'm me."

"Well, you're _some_ version of you, anyway. But you are on an extreme caffeine high and you should probably get down from there."

"I am not high," he argued, as dignified as one could be while speaking so quickly that one word ran into the next. "I'm simply very, very alert. So I am keeping watch. For sparkly things."

"That's the spirit, mate!" Jack told him, raising his mug of rum and grinning. "I'm with ye there." And as nimbly as his namesake, he made his way up to the crow's nest as well, not spilling a drop of his rum in the process.

"Now it's _both_ of them up there," Elizabeth muttered in exasperation. "I can exert some sensible influence when they're each making fools of themselves separately. But together…" she trailed off, the concept too chaotic to be expressed in words.

"One o' the lesser known reasons women aren't allowed on ships," Barbossa put in unexpectedly. "They try to exert a sensible influence, or what they think is a sensible influence. Can't be having that sort of thing."

"Also, as just demonstrated by our uniq's lady down there, they tend to try to brush our 'air," Jack said, wrinkling his nose and tossing his dreadlocks about pointedly. "Completely unnecessary action. Not hygeinic." He paused a second, the mug of rum halfway to his lips as he stared at the horizon. "Very, very bad news, mates."

"Bad news! Honestly, is that the best you can do?" Elizabeth retorted. "And not hygeinic, indeed! You wouldn't know hygeinic if it—" Jack broke in.

"Dearie, while ye are rather bad luck where the state of me ship and the preservation of rum are concerned, it was not, in fact, you I was referring to. There's a ship of the British navy heading our way. _Party's done, mates!_ All veteran crew to the Pearl! Student lasses to the… other Pearl! Come about starboard and show 'em just 'ow fast this ship can run with the wind in 'er sails!" He had tossed down the last of the rum and swung down from the Crow's Nest, barking out orders without a single pause as he leapt across the gap between the two ships. There was a commotion as everyone ran back and forth and then the students were left in chaos on the Urple Pearl, struggling with the sails and lines and wind angles as the Black Pearl slid off smoothly across the water, gathering speed as it went. The navy ship was growing larger and larger on the horizon. Cate found the scope and focused on the approaching ship.

"Er… H… M… S… D… A… U… Either an M or an N? That's all I'm getting from this angle." The music played on, forgotten, in the background.

_Oh... Tonight you will be mine... tonight you will be mine... Tonight the monkey dies..._

"The HMS Dauntless," Becca said, coming over to stand next to her. "The pride of the Royal Navy. Norrington's ship. This could be a good thing or a bad thing."

"How so?" Cate asked with some trepidation.

"A good thing because he's a staff member- he was going to be teaching some classes later on once we got back to Port Royal, remember? So he knows who we are, though hopefully not what we've been up to for the past couple weeks. But… it might be a bad thing because, all piracy aside… the color of our sails alone qualifies us for death by hanging."

-

"Now use the words 'their kraken' in a sentence, one sentence for each spelling of their," Siren demanded. They were locked in the Dauntless's brig. She'd decided to give a lesson- it seemed as good a way to pass the time as any, and though it would have been too much to hope they'd _stop_ complaining, they were at least complaining about _her_ rather than about their situation. "Koneka?"

"T-H-E-I-R. Their kraken. Though they looked everywhere, they couldn't figure out where they had left _their_ kraken." Everyone smiled at that one.

"Right. Next? Volunteers?" Abby raised her hand.

"T-H-E-Y-apostrophe-R-E. They're kraken. 'What are they, Captain?' She asked, staring out at the water. '_They're_ kraken,' he answered."

"Good use of dialogue. Anyone got one for the third?" There was a thoughtful pause, then Holly piped up.

"T-H-E-R-E. There kraken. 'There! Kraken!'" she yelled pointing down at Sarah, who was sitting next to her.

"Graar, what did you do with the rest of my tentacles?" Sarah demanded, waving her arms at them. "I am maimed. Stop looking at me!"

"Sarah gets the point for creativity on that one," Siren commented dryly. "'There! Kraken!' indeed. Next task. Demonstrate the difference in meaning between an adverb used at the beginning of the sentence with a comma after it and one used after the verb." A moment of quiet occurred while they translated that out into actual concepts in their heads.

"Politely, he said nothing. He said nothing politely," Tierza offered finally. "All the others I can think of do make sense."

"Unluckily, he was playing cards. He was playing cards unluckily," Kelsey offered.

"Thankfully, the giant crab paused before attacking us. The giant crab paused thankfully before attacking us." Angel.

"Sensibly, he entered the brig and heard the students talking. He entered the brig and heard the students talking sensibly," said Norrington from a shadowed corner near the door. "Hello."

Siren jumped and spun around, then slowly relaxed as she saw who had just spoken up from behind her. "Oh! Hello. Did you talk to Beckett, then, Commodore?"

"Yes. For a very _long time_." Norrington looked tired and quite cynical. "You're going to be confined to the brig, nights, but during the day you may walk around the ship provided you are under supervision at all times. It's our duty to rehabilitate you, or so I have convinced him. If anyone asks, you have been held captive by pirates and exposed to such shocking spectacles of criminal life that your delicate sensibilities as impressionable young ladies have been upset and you've become slightly unbalanced by the trauma and have started acting like savages yourselves. On the spot, I came up with the rather brilliant idea of teaching you the error of your ways by holding classes on the virtue and importance of the navy and East India Trading Company, and on the evils of pirates. I'm not sure yet how I'm going to explain to him why you already have the books for some of these lessons. Try not to bring that up if possible. He also wishes to teach classes, don't ask me what about. That was when I managed to politely escape before he went into another tirade." He gave Siren an emotionless look. "You and your students will NOT do anything to lose me my position, understood?"

"Understood. And could I be released for an hour or so to clear up some of the, ah, contraband, on the other ship? Quietly? History will not take well to Cutler Beckett becoming the discoverer of cardboard, plastic straws, and the deep-dish pizza.There's also packets of red pepper and mozzarella, soda bottles, doughnut boxes, at least one of which is still filled with doughnuts…"

"We'll take care of the doughnuts," Norrington offered mildly.

"I'm sure your crew will appreciate them. I'll see if there's any coffee left as well, but I think Will drank the last of it. Which reminds me… the Black Pearl got away without being followed or reported, correct?"

"It was reported, but the crew member who sent the message dwelled much more on the fact that we'd just apprehended a ship full of young ladies wielding swords and firearms than he did on the sighting of a ship with black sails. I wouldn't worry too much. We're more likely to have a few patrols casually stopping by to get a peak at our boatload of modern-day Amazons than anyone following your pirates." The way he said '_your pirates_'- with a casually condescending air- made several of the students' smiles fade.

"If they only had any idea of how modern-day we are," Siren remarked dryly. "Okay, lemme loose. I'll clean up the ship. Goddamn it, I hate cleaning." Norrington raised an eyebrow at her language and she actually blushed. "Sorry."

"Um… Commodore?" Summer asked, raising her hand slightly. "If we're going to be sleeping here, won't we need pillows and blankets and stuff?"

"Will you really? I'm not sure if you've noticed this minor detail, but you are in a brig. A place of incarceration. You don't understand this concept? You really expect to be given pillows for your jail cell?" His lips curved upwards slightly. "I'll see what I can do about the blankets. If there are extras and you want to fold them up and use them as pillows, just don't be too obvious about it."

"I thought you were on our side," whined Kat.

"Not wishing you to be executed doesn't automatically mean a person is on your side," the commodore explained patiently.

"Heck, it works for me," Grace said, cracking her neck and trying to find a more comfortable position to sit in.

"Then you have a very basic view of life. Look, it may work for you, but it doesn't work that way for me. It ought not to look like you're getting any favors at all from me. The automatic assumption that would follow would be that I was getting some form of favors in return. I'd prefer not to have rumors start about Commodore Norrington and his harem of prisoner girls. Honestly, my crew would never let me live it down."

"Fine. Get Her Majesty the Grammar Queen out of here to clean and go get us blankets. I'm cold," Nina muttered, shivering pathetically.

"It's not _that_ cold," Grace argued.

"Shush, or he won't get us the blankets," Angel interrupted, but Norrington and Siren had already left.

"Rudely, they leave us trapped in here, pillowless, to stare at the ceiling," Linsey said quietly to herself. "They leave us trapped in here, pillowless, to stare at the ceiling rudely."


	17. Ch15: The Jamaican Amphibious Sponge

DISCLAIMER: Characters belong to Disney. Students belong to themselves. New characters belong jointly to Disney and to me. (Since the members of Norrington's crew are mostly anonymous background figures, I took the liberty of giving a few of them names and faces. Not to do so would have restricted the students to the sole company of Mulroy, Murtogg, Norrington, Beckett, and each other. It would have made this part of the semester deathly boring.)

So, I hope all of you enjoyed your holidays and got presents you liked and saw your families and friends and all that good stuff. Virtual hugs and eggnog/hot chocolate to everyone.

I was just doing some after-Christmas shopping for jeans today and... okay, answer me this- what size is someone on whom a four is too big but a seven is too small? Because call me crazy, but I cannot figure it out.

On a brighter note, I have almost definitely gotten a job! I'm (probably- still have to go in one more time to speak to another manager) going to be a hostess, but if I do well I will be bumped up to server, which means tips! So, yay! Of course, I'm starting at minimum wage, but even minimum wage isn't bad since it got raised recently. (In Arizona, before last year, it was $5.15/hour. Now it's $6.75. MAJOR IMPROVEMENT.)

So here's another chapter for you all and if you catch any mistakes, please, please point them out!

Siren

* * *

"Rise and shine, you lot!" The voice intruded into Abby's dreams and yanked her out of them. She cracked one eye open and saw a shadowy floorboard. _Huh?_ she wondered. "You're all required to meet in the mess hall at 5 AM precisely, which is in—" There was a pause as the speaker consulted his pocketwatch. "-er, three minutes ago. By order of Lord Cutler Beckett."

_Oh. That was where she was. _The brig filled with snarls and grumpy mutterings about exactly what Lord Cutler Beckett could do with his orders.

"The Commodore said you'd say something like that and I was also to tell you that by refusing to march up there now, you'll be indicating that you wish to stay locked in those cells until we reach Port Royal. He also says, 'Behave.'"

With a groan, Abby reluctantly crawled out of the warm blanket-cave she'd made for herself at the far end of the brig and looked around. Either Mullroy or Murtogg (she'd never been sure which was which in the movies) was standing at the hatch. Staring balefully at the man, she and the other students filed out.

When they made it to the mess hall, they were met there by Beckett himself, who gave them a disgusted look as they filed in. Then his eyes widened incredulously as he saw the sponge that was loyally trailing behind Angel, who came in last.

"I must insist that you remove that…" he paused, watching as Angel found a bench and lifted the sponge up to sit beside her. "… remove that _thing_ from the mess hall. It's unsanitary."

"It's a sponge. It cleans things. If anything, it's making the place more sanitary," Holly said quickly before Angel could snarl at him and get them all in trouble.

"It ought to be underwater where it belongs," Beckett insisted, looking repulsed by it. "It's a sea creature. It's not housebroken. Get it off those benches."

"You mean you've never seen a- a Jamaican amphibious sponge before?" Siren improvised wildly. "They're becoming quite popular among the lower classes of society who lack servants to scrub the floors for them. This is a trained one. Completely housebroken. And they're used to being out of the water for long periods of time because they, um, have to travel long distances overland to mate." The students bit their lips and avoided looking at each other lest they burst out laughing.

"A Jamaican amphibious sponge." He paused, considering, and finally said, "Very well. But it may NOT under any circumstances mate with any other sponge aboard this ship."

"They can't interbreed with common sponges," Siren reassured him, eyes sparkling with supressed laughter. "Its behavior will be entirely chaste."

Beckett nodded curtly. "To business, then. You were apprehended and taken into our custody after being found crewing a ship with sails of a color that I do not wish to speak of in detail. The penalty for sailing in our waters under such a color is hanging, but I have been informed by Commodore Norrington that you had spent the previous weeks in the vile clutches of pirates and had been forced to use that vessel as it was your only means of escape from them. Is this accurate?"

"The color of those sails was not of our choosing. If we'd had any other option or the spare canvas to replace them, the sails it has now would have been torn to shreds and thrown into the sea," said Cate with selective truthfulness. "And before we took the ship, we'd been held on the Black Pearl and made to do coarse physical labor for a crew of pirates."

"There's certainly no doubt that you were treated cruelly," Beckett added curtly, gesturing at their various battle wounds and bruises, "And the clothing you were forced to wear is quite unsuitable, but I'm afraid we have nothing more appropriate for your sex in the ship's stores. Perhaps the crew can contrive something."

"What about our swords?" Summer asked longingly.

"You will no longer require them," Beckett said as if it ought to be obvious. "There are loyal men here to defend you. Naturally, you are still somewhat unbalanced from the shock of your abduction and enslavement, but we will aid you in your recovery. The Commodore and myself will slowly explain the history and duties of ourselves and the seamen who rescued you, the steps we have taken to fight piracy, and you will be given much time for quiet contemplation of these lessons. You are safe now, do you understand that?"

"Yes," they replied in a tired, unenthusiastic chorus.

"Well, you might try being grateful for it," Beckett told them, looking peeved at their attitude. "There are provisions in the galley. Getting back to your usual duties should steady you, so I've reassigned the usual cooks to other tasks. You may prepare anything you'd like- the crew will be grateful for a woman's cooking regardless. You won't be required to serve the food or eat with the men, of course. Just go bother the Commodore when you've finished your own meals. He'll figure out something to do with you for the rest of the day." He exited the mess hall with a perfunctory bow to them all and left them exchanging incredulous looks.

"Did that conceited little toad just order us to cook breakfast for the entire ship?!" Kat burst out angrily.

"He certainly did," Sarah said, looking resigned. "If it helps, he really does think he's doing us a favor. He thinks it will make us feel more at home here."

"Yeah, because it will make _him_ feel more at home to have a bunch of obedient little females cooking for him," retorted Koneka. "Don't defend him, Sarah. He's a prat."

"If he is, then so are most men. He seems fairly typical, as well-off gentlemen go. Maybe a little more dense than most. But at least he hasn't grabbed at our backsides or made lewd comments," Sarah pointed out, making the best of the situation.

"Does he even _like_ girls?" Linsey wondered.

"I think he's too in love with himself to bother with anyone else, male or female," Becca guessed dryly.

"I think you're probably right," Tierza agreed. "I don't know about the rest of you, but I'm hungry. And it looks like the only way we're getting breakfast is if we make it ourselves, so should we, like, draw straws for who takes kitchen duty? If the galley here is anything like the Pearl's, we'll be in each other's way if we all try to squish in there." 

Kelsey, Grace, Nina, and Cate ended up being sent into the kitchens. Since they weren't allowed to wander the ship unsupervised and they also didn't really want to run into his Lordship again- some people just should _not_ have to be tolerated before 7 am- the rest just hung around in the mess hall.

Their wait for breakfast was made more entertaining when Kat discovered that the entire underside of the tables had been carved full of sailors' initials and random insults towards their crew members. Soon everyone was crawling under the tables to read the graffitti.

"I wonder who C.T. is and why he felt the need to carve his initials in at least five different places," Nina wondered.

"He was over here too, and someone else wrote 'likes it up the arse' underneath," Grace reported.

"Lieutenant White is a…" Siren paused. "… That's not spelled right. Wait, do I still have my…" she trailed off and pulled a tiny pocketknife out of her boot, snapped it open, and began to compulsively edit the graffitti.

"When you're done with that table, you might be interested in this: someone over here spelled bastard with no less than eleven letters," Holly observed.

"You'd expect a better education from men of the Royal Navy," Becca said, shaking her head.

"Education? Not likely," Angel scoffed, refusing to show any interest in the carvings. Behind her back, the hatch cracked open and two eyes peeked through. "Everyone but the officers are ignorant idiots. And the officers are educated idiots."

"It's a wonder we manage to make it off the docks, isn't it," the eavesdropper said good-naturedly.

"Whaaa-?" Angel squawked, spinning around and fumbling at her belt in an attempt to draw a dagger that she no longer had, looking inadvertently very silly.

"Midshipman Edward Wright," he said, opening the hatch wider and bowing to them politely. He was a young man of about twenty with curly brown hair and blue eyes. "We're all rather curious, did you really lose your minds? The Commodore says you went mad when you were held prisoner by pirates, but Lord Beckett says you're cooking breakfast, which doesn't sound very safe if you are mad because that stove is a bugg- I mean, a nuisance to handle even if you're sane. I used to help out around here a few years back when I was a new recruit, so I thought you might want some assistance with that and with finding things."

"Do we look mad?" Koneka asked him, flipping her hair impertinently.

"You look strange. I don't know about the mad part yet," Edward replied honestly. Several of the students looked slightly insulted.

"Aren't you supposed to be shocked and aroused because you can see the shape of our legs in these pants and you've never seen what a woman's legs look like before?" Linsey demanded, looking put out.

"What?" he chuckled, raising an eyebrow. "Of course I've seen what a woman's legs look like. We do get shore leave, you know."

"Yes, but you don't use it for immoral purposes. You're not pirates," Abby rationalized. "You're Englishmen in the Royal Navy. You're, like, the anti-pirate. So you're all…" she waved a hand, "… proper and stuff."

The midshipman started laughing so hard that his face turned red and he had to lean a hand against the wall and steady himself. "Oh, my. And you think _we're_ uneducated! Who ever told you sailors were proper gentlemen and how many pints had he downed beforehand?"

"I think it was mostly Commodore Norrington who gave them that impression, by the way he acts," Siren told him wryly, abandoning her editing of the graffitti and emerging from under a table. "Also, before they were taken onto that pirate ship, they spent most of their formative years in a private finishing school, being tutored in literature and music and reading silly romances. I was one of their instructors."

Abby opened her mouth to object indignantly, then closed it. It was, well, kind of accurate in a way. School. Online fanfiction. How else could their ignorance and attitude be explained without revealing that they weren't from this time?

He was shaking his head in amusement. "Well, in the real world, ladies, you'll find sailors are actually infamous for their foul language, filthy habits, and violent tempers. And the Commodore isn't exactly the way that he seems at first. He got advanced up the ranks when he was very young- there's men under his command who are twice his age. There's a lot weighing on him sometimes; most of the other officers are still watching and waiting for him to fail. So he's a bit too stiff and proper sometimes, especially when the likes of Lord Beckett are around to snipe at him for every little thing that goes wrong."

"How old_ is_ he?" Tierza asked. "He can't be _that _young; in the mov- I mean, in… _Elizabeth_told us that he was already a Lieutenant when she and her father made the voyage to Port Royal eight years ago."

"Oh, somewhere around thirty, I think. He never really talks about his age. Anyway, did they need help in there or not? I've got to go yell at the lads on deck watch if not. I think they've been messing about with my logbook again."

"I'll go check and see if they need help," Abby volunteered, crossing the mess hall and ducking into the galley. She immediately found her shoulders being grabbed in an iron grip by Kelsey and was pulled aside.

"What the bloody hell is suet?" the other girl asked in a frantic whisper.

"I haven't the slightest idea, but the word is familiar. A kind of pudding or something?"

"It's not pudding," Nina volunteered from the nook near the pantry where she was shelling peas. "It's kind of greasy and waxy and smells odd."

"Um. By the way, do you need a kinda cute guy to show you where things are and help you with the oven?"

"Point him out to us later; for now, I've got the oven under control," Cate reassured her. "It spits jets of fire at me occasionally, but… " she tapped a metal finger on her metal arm pointedly- "better it hit me than one of you guys or the wood that this entire ship is oh-so-conveniently made of. Besides, I'm only making toast, and it's almost done. Just find out what suet is, could you?"

"Sure." She stuck her head through the hatch and into the mess hall. "Hey, we don't need any help finding things, thank you, but could Sarah and/or Angel pop in here for a second to answer a question?"

The midshipman (she'd never heard of one before, and reminded herself to ask later what midshipmen did) cheerfully left, and both Angel and Sarah came to the hatch curiously.

"What is suet?" Abby asked.

"Raw beef fat," Sarah replied easily.

"Yuck," was the response from inside the kitchen.

"It's only fat," Angel commented, puzzled. "You fry things in it. Or spread it on bread. Or when you've captured a merchant ship in the middle of a really long voyage and find some in their stores, you just eat chunks of it straight, like candy, before anyone else finds out it's there, and it's _wonderful_."

"That," said Nina, getting to her feet and putting the pot of peas on the stove, "Is really, really gross."

"It's a natural thing to do, though," commented Siren, who had come over to hear what they were saying. "Suet is pure saturated fat. If you haven't had anything but hardtack and dried beans for months, your body absolutely craves anything containing even a molecule of fat."

"Can anything, just for once, not be a lesson?" Grace asked, pleading. "It's too early for lessons."

"The galley is becoming very crowded," Cate said pointedly. "And I think it's also too early for being incinerated by a gust of flame as I retrieve our toast from this very not friendly oven."

… That cleared out the galley.

"Sorry about the constant lessons thing," Siren said as they all sat down. "You have no idea how much education I have to pack into this time. We didn't get nearly as much of the curriculum finished as I had planned to by this point, and now it looks like we're going to lose more time to cooking for the sailors and being lectured at by Beckett. Also, since with the exception of Commodore Norrington, they think I'm just another one of you, I have to be around you constantly. Educating you keeps me from going mad."

"What did you plan to have taught us already that you never got around to?" Holly asked curiously.

"Spelling, grammar, writing technique, characterization, and how to stick to canon without sacrificing your creativity in the process," was the response. "Also how and how not to write certain genres and styles- romance, action, angst, mystery, comedy, AU…"

"We're allowed to write Alternate Universe stuff?" Linsey blurted out. "I thought you just said we had to stick to canon."

"Excuse me, but what is canon and what is Alternate Universe stuff?" Sarah interrupted, appearing from the galley with an enormous tray full of thick slices of toast. Abby eagerly grabbed one and took a bite.

"Hey, you sprinkled it with brown sugar," she commented around a mouthful of partially-chewed bread. "This is good."

"You guys' reaction to suet was weird, so we improvised. It'd be better if we had cream or something to pour over it, though."

"Cream poured over toast?" Kat asked dubiously.

"Sure, why not? But you never answered my question. What are canon and Alternate Universe?"

"If they have apples, you could soak the bread in apple juice, then fry it," Koneka suggested. "That might be tasty. Or the sugar might burn. I don't know."

"Canon, not to be confused with the kind that goes boom, literally means 'book', but in PotC, it means the way things happened and characters acted in the movie," Siren explained to her. "When something is uncanonical, that means it's in contradiction to the original spirit and facts of the story."

"And Alternate Universe means the story told as what might have happened if something in the book had turned out differently. Like if Will hadn't helped Jack to escape from prison, or if Elizabeth had chosen to marry Commodore Norrington at the end of the first movie," Summer added.

"So how do we write AU while sticking to canon?" Grace demanded.

"Make sure the different choices the characters made are things they might have actually done, and show how the different history effected their character development. You have to be a very good writer to do it without screwing it up, mind you," she was cautioned.

"That's what you say about everything," Becca grumbled.

"It's true about most things, though only to a certain degree. I mean, even an inexperienced writer can write a stream of conscious narrative by Elizabeth or Will from some point during the movies and do all right. However, it takes much more talent, technique, and practice to pull off anything involving magic, mythology, time travel, the development of unlikely relationships, or sex scenes, and it's almost impossible to write a Mary Sue main character who doesn't ruin the entire story by her presence."

"Did you say _almost?"_ Tierza asked, turning and looking at the other woman in surprise.

"It's possible to do it well. The Earth's Children series by Jean M. Auel centers around a Mary Sue and it's still good- mostly because the Mary Sue herself doesn't angst much and has to work to gain her miraculous skills. Sarah Douglass's Wayfarer Redemption series has two female Mary Sues and two male ones (Marty Stues) and despite that, it's fascinating. However even though she managed to pull it off, the Sue-ness visibly warps the plot. I'm sure you can find other examples that you've read if you think about it."

The conversation wandered along that vein for a while, as several of them remembered other characters in books they'd read that fit the description. In the midst of an argument over whether or not Elizabeth should qualify as a Mary Sue, there was a loud knock on the door.

"First Lieutenant Nelson here. If you ladies have finished breakfast, I've orders to escort you to the captain's quarters." a man's voice called through the hatch.

Nina got up and opened it for him. "Hi. We're about done. Um, nice to meet you all."

Behind him was a group of men ranging in age from sixteen to sixty, all in uniform and peering around each other to see these mysterious prisoner women their captain had picked up. They snapped to attention as Nelson looked over his shoulder, then started whispering, staring, and nudging each other again the moment he looked away.

"I hope there's enough food left for everyone," Cate told them. "Lord Beckett didn't tell us how much we needed to make."

"What _are_ you, miss? If you'll pardon me asking," the Lieutenant asked, looking at her in mixed confusion and curiosity.

"I'm a girl like the others, only my skin is made of metal and has pointy bits," Cate volunteered. "Very handy for fishing and cooking, actually."

"That's… good, then?" He didn't seem to know quite what to make of this. "If there's not enough, we'll get some pears and hardtack from rations to make up for it. Now, if you'd all just come this way?" The sailors neatly filed up, leaving room for the students to proceed down the hall, and the sergeant led the way down. Abby noticed with amusement the open curiosity of the seamen as they walked past. Young girls who fought like men were apparently the stuff of legend in these times. Most women learned to shoot a rifle at some point or other, but swordfighting? Commandeering a warship? And, as Abby learned later, their educated language and tendency to speak to anyone more or less as an equal had given the distinct impression that they were not from the lower classes, which made their abilities seem even more out of place. Even Sarah, who had not so long ago been a maid, had picked up some of that in the time she'd spent with them, carrying herself less like a servant and more like a confident, independent woman.

Wild Amazon women.

There were worse things to be mistaken for.

Abby gazed down at her notes.

Ship's Boy: lowest rank; mainly like a servant to the captain, but can be given orders by anyone of any rank on the ship.

Landsman: second lowest rank; sailor with less than two years experience who are still in training.

Ordinary Seaman: sailor with less than two years experience who has completed training.

Able Seaman: a sailor with two or more years of experience.

Leading Seaman: the highest non-Officer rank, slightly more authority than an Able Seaman.

Midshipman: an Officer in training; main duties are keeping the log book, assisting the officer of the watch, taking command of small groups of men in the absence of a more senior officer, and studying navigation, seamanship, and mathematics for the Lieutenant's examination.

Lieutenant: an Officer Lieutenants are ranked by seniority- if the captain of a ship is put out of commission, the First Lieutenant takes command, and so on down the line. A ship can have anywhere from one to more than five or six lieutenants.

Captain: a semi-official Officer rank. Anyone who captains a ship is called a Captain, whether or not they are in the Navy.

Post Captain: an official Officer rank held by a Captain who over the course of at least three years of captaincy has served well and distinguished himself.

Commodore: an Officer commanding a squadron of several ships detatched from the main fleet.

Rear Admiral: the Officer in command of the rear portion of a fleet. Answers to the Admiral.

Vice Admiral: the Officer in command of the Van (front) portion of a fleet. Answers to the Admiral.

Admiral: Fleet Commander.

And now Norrington was talking about the ranks above Admiral- Lord High Admiral and First Lord of the Admiralty. What next? Imperial SuperAdmiral? King of the Bloody Ocean?

_I bet Barbossa would love having that title, King of the Bloody Ocean. I must remember to mention that to him. I don't think Jack would want it... He'd disappear into uncharted waters and never be seen again before he allowed himself to be tied down by that much responsibility. _

What would it be like, to disappear into an unknown place and escape everything else in your life, just become whoever you wanted to be? Pirates did it all the time. Having no income taxes or social security numbers probably helped. But in her time, there _were_ no uncharted waters to escape to, no mysterious blank edges of the map beyond which one might find anything. Nowhere left to discover-- nowhere left to hide. Not on this planet, anyway.

Abby had a sudden brief longing to become an astronaut.

If Jack Sparrow lived in the modern world, was that what he'd be, an astronaut? She smiled at the thought of him piloting a spaceship- it seemed oddly appropriate- and started listing ideas of modern jobs he might have had in the margins of her paper. Astronaut, marine biologist, aircraft pilot, scam artist, lead singer in a rock band…

"What are astronauts and rock bands?" She gave a guilty start and looked up to see Norrington glancing down at her paper. Most of the other students had left the cabin, though a few had remained and were writing something.

"Um, an astronaut is someone who travels in outer space- goes to other planets and the moon and stuff… And a rock band is a group of musicians who play rock music, which doesn't actually have anything to do with rocks. I'm not sure you'd like it."

"You can travel to the moon? Other planets?" Norrington stared at her intently. "How does one get that far from the earth?"

"I think they sort of shoot them up in a spaceship with enough force to break through the atmosphere," Abby said uncertainly. "Like…. launching something from a cannon pointed straight up?"

"No," the Commodore told her, shaking his head emphatically. "You don't _ever_ fire a cannon that is aimed straight up. The cannonball would indeed go up, but then it would crash right back down and flatten whatever it landed on- you, most likely. "

"Well, that's what it looks like they were doing, but I don't know how it really works," she hedged. "I think it sort of keeps launching itself further up."

"Hmm. Well, I see why it's at the top of your rank hierarchy. Anyone who can pilot a ship up into the sky and as far as the moon without crashing would need a great deal of training and experience."

"My rank hierarchy?"

"Yes," he said, then in response to her blank look, filled in, "Your assignment. To create your own rank system for a military and transport force that is superior to the Navy's, and then explain how and why it is superior. Since you all seemed so unimpressed with and disdainful of ours."

"Oh."

"But since that list of yours was so important that you weren't listening for the last fifteen minutes of class, I'd like you to use that as your ranking system. And come up with a rational argument for why it is more effective than the Navy's."

"Oh."

"By tomorrow afternoon."


	18. Ch16: Exposition and Description

DISCLAIMER: blah blah blah blah blah.

AN: Sorry I was so slow getting this chapter up. Yes, Angel, you can name your sponge.

"And in order to infiltrate the enemy's stronghold and deafen them with heavy metal music (from the rock bands, who would also be partly self-supporting through sale of concert tickets) and the sound of revving motorcycles (from the motorcycle gangs, whose nomadic lifestyle would enable them to arrive and leave without enciting suspicion), the two lowest ranks in the force would require large numbers of expendable troops. As explained earlier, the enemy's deafness will ensure that they do not hear the spaceship that is flying overhead until they have been incinerated by lasers, which they will be vulnerable to because of the laser-magnifying gems and super-reflective housing materials sold to them by the gem dealers and scam artists." Abby finished reading her composition. She gave an elaborate bow and returned to her seat amid the laughter and applause of her classmates.

"Well, that was interesting," Commodore Norrington said, his lips curving upwards slightly. "And how would they deal with trade?"

"The same way," Abby said cheerfully.

"By incinerating people with... lasers, whatever those are? I think maybe we need to go over the definition of trade. Also, how would your force communicate with each other over a distance?"

"Messenger pigeons," Abby answered promptly, choosing a method at random off the top of her head.

"You mean carrier pigeons? Do you know much about carrier pigeons? How do you imagine they know where to go?"

"They're… trained…" Abby hazarded a guess.

"They find their way back to the place they were raised. So if you want to communicate with someone, you need to have a pigeon that was raised wherever it is that they are."

"Okay. So?"

"So if you're at sea, you'd not be able to receive any messages. A homing pigeon can only find its way to one place, its home. A ship moves around. No pigeon would be able to reach it. The entire naval force would be cut off from communication."

"At sea they could use dolphins." She shrugged. "Dolphins are very smart. I bet you could train a dolphin to carry messages."

"Dolphins are not a domesticated species."

"They actually can train dolphins in our time," Linsey put in. "Well, the ones raised in captivity, at least."

"Who captures dolphins in the first place? No, don't answer that. So, has everyone read theirs? Then I hope the exercise at least put things in perspective as far as how difficult it is to organize a force of hundreds of thousands of men. The Royal Navy and the East India Company will obviously not be the most exciting topics you've ever learned about, but they're important. Without the hard work and continuing supervision of both of them, the Caribbean as you know it would not exist."

"Octopi are intelligent too," Holly added. "Maybe you could have a messenger octopus."

"I want a messenger octopus!" Summer declared.

"I want a messenger kraken," Becca said with a grin.

"Did their minds absorb a single word of what I just said, do you think?" the commodore asked Siren.

"Hard to say. Possibly. Regardless, it was a good lesson. Besides, who wouldn't want a messenger octopus? Wouldn't you?"

"I'm… not sure. It would get ink on the messages. And I worked with a lieutenant once who had a scar on his hand from where an octopus bit him. They have these sort of beaks, apparently. Can we have some order around here?" He shook off the temporary octopus distraction and raised his voice on the last sentence.

"You're gonna lecture us more about the Navy," Grace guessed, her voice tinged with resignation.

"The Navy _and_ the East India Company," Norrington corrected her. "The-"

"Why do you always wear that wig?" Koneka interrupted. "It makes you look silly."

"What?" he paused, clearly taken by surprise. "It shows my rank, of course. Going without it would be like wearing a uniform without stripes."

"Unfashionable?" Kat questioned.

"No! Well, yes, it would be considered unfashionable as well, but mainly just inappropriate. What purpose would it serve to pretend to be a subordinate on my own ship? And why do you keep trying to distract me? Stop it." The commodore straightened his wig almost self-consciously and gave them a stern 'be quiet' look before beginning the actual lecture.

"Though the Royal Navy of England has existed since the 8th century, until this century, it was not the _British_ Navy as you all refer to it. It was only after 1707 that the Royal Scots Navy was added to our English force and it became the naval power of all of Britain and the British colonies. Also, nowadays, the duties of the Royal Navy are not only military; we have very strong political and financial connections with the East India Company, which adds even further complications…"

Which he went on to explain at length. Essentially, they were the equivalent of the police, the international trade bureau, the department of homeland security, _and_ the post office all rolled into one. Plus, they were in charge of protecting individuals and companies who they had no real authority over- which meant providing advice and warnings and a small armed guard who would often fail to defend their charges because the advice and warnings they'd given had been ignored. They were expected to prevent piracy and smuggling but didn't have the numbers or the resources to do more than inconvenience and occasionally execute the pirates and smugglers. The only training they could offer their recruits was that they'd learn it as they went along, but those same men were automatically expected by civilians to be equal to any situation. And then there was a whole bunch of politics thrown in- they'd often be ordered to forcefully supress even the most peaceful and rational rebellions and protests, because while things like food and diplomacy were expensive, ammunition was always cheap. The people in charge were thousands of miles across the ocean and making decisions based on reports written by barely informed and often completely uninvolved people. And it was the officers' job to come up with the least impossible way to follow their orders, while also keeping their crew members happy and not butting heads with the local authorities.

_And, _Abby realized as she spaced out near the end of class, her brain filled to capacity and no longer absorbing the last part of the lecture,_ they hadn't collapsed._ They didn't always do things _well_, no problems ever stayed fixed, and of course the paperwork did not bear thinking about, but they hadn't collapsed. The British East India Company would, eventually, but that would be more than a century in the future, when the world was an entirely different place. And unlike the EIC, the Navy was still up and running in her time, and from what she understood, still working on a system very similar to the original one used here, albeit with technology.

As much as she hated having to think of them that way, the Navy was… well, fairly competent, all things considered. Even their overly complicated rank system was good for something, because it meant that just about anyone could die or be seriously injured and their second-in-command would be able to immediately step into place- and everyone would still know their exact role in things. She didn't want them to be efficient, or brave, or skilled at what they did. But it had become impossible to avoid the fact that a considerable number of them had to be, if only because they didn't have any other option.

Her loyalty to piracy wasn't swayed by this revelation, but it put some things into perspective. Like how the crew of the Dauntless could be so much- well, not _so_ much like the pirates, but not as _un_like them as she'd imagined they would be. True to the midshipman's assertion, the sailors were a rough bunch, and though some of them made an effort to tone down their language and jokes in the presence of the young women, they were a far cry from being clean, proper, or gentlemanly. And quite a few of 'their' pirates originally came from the Navy, so it kind of made sense. She couldn't have imagined Jack Sparrow or Joshamee Gibbs ever being even remotely like the Commodore. It was life that had made them who they were. Piracy had just helped.

She wondered if the other students were having such a hard time translating all the black and white clarity of their imagined versions of the Caribbean into the reality. They didn't seem to be dwelling on it the way she found herself doing. Maybe she was just a slow learner.

The class ended for lunch, to everyone's relief, and they filed into the mess hall to find the crew already there eating.

"We don't have to cook this time? Yes!" Sarah cried victoriously, bouncing slightly before she went to take a plate and help herself.

"The Commodore convinced Lord Beckett to just put you all on the normal rotation of chores, at least those requiring less physical exertion," a dark-haired young man at the end of one table said, winking at her. "We've not been encouraged to talk to you, but come sit and talk anyway, why don't you?" The others agreed, beckoning them over.

"Have you been _dis_couraged from talking to us?" Kelsey asked as she ladled some beans onto her plate.

"I'm sure the young ladies would appreciate being left to themselves after their traumatic ordeal," said a deeply-tanned man with a pockmarked face in a perfect imitation of Cutler Beckett's officious, condescending tones, eliciting snickers from both the students and his shipmates.

"Just what we need, more than one Beckett," Angel muttered sullenly, slopping a ladleful onto her plate so hard they splashed slightly.

"Well, the young ladies are perfectly fine, thanks," Tierza told them, flipping her braid over her shoulder so it wouldn't fall into her plate of food as she sat. "Can you do any other voices?"

As the sailor trotted out imitations of Norrington, Governor Swann, two Lieutenants and a Captain whom they'd never met, a drunk Scotsman, and the madam of a Jamaican brothel that the sailors recognized and hooted appreciatively at, Abby looked around for a free seat. The midshipman they'd met that morning gave her a friendly smile and nod when she glanced his way, so she went to his table and slid into the seat next to him.

"So, what have you been learning in those lessons of yours?" he asked in greeting. "The Commodore always comes back snapping orders and muttering incoherently."

"Oh, about the navy and the East India Company and how complicated they are to organize and keep running," Abby said, "and that despite all your difficulties, Commodore Norrington doesn't think that using messenger octopi would help."

"Messenger octopi? You'd tie the message to… a tentacle, I suppose?" Edward contemplated the idea. "You'd need a very patient octopus. And ink that wouldn't wash off."

"We also learned about the different ranks," Abby added, spearing a piece of salt pork and taking a bite. "So I know what you do now. How long do you have left as a midshipman before you take the Officer's Exam?"

"Oh, a good bit longer still. I didn't have the schooling some of the other lads had already gotten before coming here. I had to work as a boy. Mum couldn't afford school for me or Muriel- my younger sister. We learned to read and write pretty well from working at a book printer's, though we weren't put to the job of typesetting, just folding and binding pages and cleaning the presses. Never learned much about numbers or geometry, or any history save what was in the Bible- though there's parts of that I could near recite to you, from printing so many."

"You don't mention your father," Abby said, trying to be tactful in case he didn't know who his father was or something. She'd learned it was common enough in these times, though generally the mother came up with a lie that she'd tell the kid until they were old enough to figure out otherwise.

"Died when I was about four. He was the youngest of three boys, and when he married my mum, his father stopped speaking to him and cut him out of his will. Granddad's a partner in a large trade company, see, so his son marrying a baker's daughter just wasn't on. He didn't count on his two oldest sons dying without heirs. A few years ago there comes a knock on our door and there's a chap there to take me to my granddad's house. So now he's got me, heir to a mercantile business and never sold a grain of salt nor set foot on a ship all my life. The Navy was the obvious answer. Get an education of sorts, experience, distinguish myself in battle…"

"Extinguish yourself in battle?" asked Abby, who had misheard that last bit. "Wouldn't that kind of defeat the point?"

Several moments of mutual confusion ensued, because Edward was a bit hazy on the difference between the two words, and Abby's attempt to define extinguish with the example of a fire extinguisher (which was really the only context in which she used the word herself) backfired horrendously since fire extinguishers wouldn't be invented for several hundred years. They ended up laughing uproariously at each other and themselves.

"So to extinguish myself would mean something like to kill myself then?" he finally asked her, mopping up the last of his beans with a bit of bread.

"Something like," Abby agreed. "Snuffing out your life. Like you extinguish a candle flame."

"But you don't _dis_tinguish a candle flame," commented the young lieutenant sitting across from them, who had joined in the debate. (Abby later found out that his name was Kimberly, and felt a bit sorry for him on that account, until she was informed by Sarah when she commented on it that Kimberly was a man's name, not a woman's.)

"I never said I knew where the _word root_ came from-" she began, and was interrupted by Siren's loud announcement.

"Students, we are now going back to our lovely belowdecks accomodations for lessons on writing exposition and character description. Finish your food and get there within the next ten minutes."

"Exposition and character description are the easy parts-" Tierza argued, then trailed off under Siren's glare.

"If you think it's easy then you're almost certainly doing it wrong. Writing well isn't easy. It's torturous and exhausting and a neverending process. You don't do it because you like it and it's fun. You do it because you love it and it's essential."

Edward gave a low whistle under his breath. "She's a bit… intense, isn't she."

"You have no idea. She edited your graffitti. I have to go now. Maybe I'll see you later tonight?" Abby drained the last of her grog from the mug and tried not to grimace- the grog on a Navy ship was almost entirely stale water, with only just enough rum to kill anything that might be growing in it. The rum was actually rationed out- rationed out! - so the sailors couldn't get so drunk that they were unfit for duty. Not that it worked- there was generally a man on every ship, often the quartermaster, who had some extra drink stowed away that they would sell to the rest.

"Good chance you will. If the weather stays fine there'll probably be music."

"Music?" Abby asked curiously.

"Roger'll tune up his fiddle and Art's got some pipes and Ben usually takes out his flute. Try and join us."

She promised she would and followed the other girls down to the brig for their lesson.

"All right, let's start with character descriptions. I have a general rule of thumb for you guys- you should never need more than three sentences to give the reader an image of your character, and you should never straight-out _tell_ the reader in the exposition anything they wouldn't be able to figure out from looking at them."

"That would make for a pretty boring character," Linsey commented. "So all the reader gets to know is how they look?"

"Three sentences for the image. That includes how they look, how they dress, what weapons or other accessories they're carrying, and their manner. And the reader gets to learn the rest from their thoughts, their impulses, their words, and their actions, all of which they should have plenty of throughout the story," Siren corrected her.

"You cannot fit a description of all that- looks, clothes, weapons, manner, accessories, whatever else it was you said- into three sentences," Kelsey argued logically.

"Exactly. That forces you to pick and choose. Is it really important for us to know that she has alabaster skin? Is her outfit particularly significant in any way or can it be skimmed over with a phrase? Do her eyes need a simile to describe them or can they just be pale blue? Is her sword a main point in the story or can the description of the exact gems in its hilt be left out? Might it be more practical to say that she carried herself arrogantly instead of going on a long metaphorical tangent about queens or cats or something equally lame? If you only have three sentences, you have to decide what parts you really need. And the more strict you get with yourself, the more you start to realize that you don't need a lot of the stuff you're including- the length of their eyelashes, or the fact that they have slightly rosy cheeks- which incidentally most people do, unless they're dead or ill… are you getting my point?"

"This is to keep our characters from sounding like Sues?" Koneka guessed.

"Exactly. Also, from my perilous quest through the depths of bad fanfiction, I have learned that the phrase, 'he couldn't help but notice her ', or 'he couldn't help noticing that she was ' is almost always the precursor to a painfully bad description. The phrase is not that awful in itself as an opening to a description, but it seems to come as a package along with 'her eyes were as blue as the water and filled with a burning independent fire and he knew just from looking at her that he had met his match.'"

"Filled with a burning fire. Is there a such thing as a fire that's not burning?" Holly asked, wrinkling her nose with the rest of them at the sappy description.

"Yes, it's called a pile of wood," Angel replied. "An independent pile of wood, in her case. But Siren, I'd _like_ it if a guy looked at me and knew he'd met his match. It would be a nice change from, _oh look, there's a scrawny little girl who has probably been wishing all her life to be taken advantage of by an arrogant idiot like me."_

"I agree," Sarah said feelingly.

"It would be nice," Siren agreed, "But have you ever looked at anyone the first time you met them and thought 'I've met my match!'? In a non-romantic sense, that is?"

One by one, they reluctantly shook their heads.

"Once you get to know them, sometimes," ventured Kat.

"But not the first time you look into their eyes. Also, there's another similar rule that you have probably heard of before. It's called 'show, don't tell.' If you can prove something through a character's actions later in the story, don't bog down the exposition with those details. Besides, it sounds childish, just saying straight out that a character is unusual or wicked or independent or smart or brave. If your character actually is any of those things, then the reader should be able to figure that out for themselves during the story. When you meet a real person, there's no a sign on their forehead listing their character traits- not unless Captain Jack gets hold of those post-it notes again, anyway. You learn their character as you get to know them. It should be the same way in a book. Let the reader find out by observing their actions. Don't say a character is intelligent, just give him snappy dialogue and have him come up with observations and solutions to problems that no one else thinks of. Don't announce that she's gained the respect of other pirates, just have the other pirates act respectful towards her! Don't say they're skilled at anything, just show that they do it quickly, competently, and efficiently. Do you see what I mean?"

"Also, if the character decides they're not going to be smart, that makes it less embarrassing afterwards," Grace put in thoughtfully.

"Yes. Don't you love it when they start deciding stuff on their own?" Siren replied, looking serene for a moment. "It's like having children, only less painful and expensive."

"And you can make them go away when you're not writing instead of having them bothering you all the time like real children would?" Cate suggested. Slowly, twelve heads turned to look at her in disbelief.

"Sometimes I forget that you're not a writer," Siren said after a minute.

"They do bother you all the time," Becca explained to Cate wryly. "That's why you have to write about them. Because they won't leave you alone."

Siren cleared her throat. "On to the next point. Normal. Do not ever describe your character as normal, or ordinary, or 'just your everyday' whatever. And I do not _ever_ again want to read the phrase, 'a normal girl who isn't all that normal.' It's like saying, 'a sharp knife that isn't all that sharp.' What is it then? You know who you are. Shame on you."

Nina looked away uncomfortably.

"Are we done now?" Abby asked hopefully. "Because I hear music. Edward and Kimberly- I mean, Midshipman Wright and Midshipman Staunton- told me they might be a sort-of party and that we should come. They're playing flutes and violins and stuff."

"Then yes, we're done now. Go join the party. Have fun, but please don't have the kinds of fun that will get us restricted to the brig again or kicked off the ship. Class dismissed."


	19. Ch17: The Evils of Piracy

DISCLAIMER: All I own is myself and a few characters. The rest are commandeered from Disney and possibly you.

AN: No, I didn't forget you guys. I've been having a life. Not enjoying it too much, mind you- mental health problems resurfacing, midterms, houseguests, a new puppy who has recently become a very sick puppy and has been hospitalized for the last few days at the emergency veterinary clinic. They're pretty sure he's going to be okay, but nothing's for certain and he doesn't seem to be getting better and it's some stomach flu type thing that he has, which wouldn't be nearly so dangerous in an adult dog, but he's only three months old. He's become listless and exhausted and he won't eat, and this in a puppy whose normal state is to be bouncing around so fast that he's a blur.

Okay, that's enough venting for now.

Incidentally, you're not going to like today's lesson. Sorry. There are some good reasons why they hang pirates. It's not all rum and treasure.

* * *

"Do you really think he likes me?" Abby whispered, eyes widening.

"He was either looking at you or talking with you the entire evening," Kelsey replied in a low voice. The two girls had woken a few minutes earlier, and were trying to have a conversation that would normally be carried on in squeals and exclamations quietly enough not to wake the other students, who were sleeping around them. Each still lying in their blankets, propped up on one elbow, they were discussing Edward, who had been by or near Abby's side during most of the party the previous night.

"What do you think I should do about it? I don't know how to flirt in this time without probably saying something scandalous."

"Would it be so bad if you did? Flirting sometimes involves saying something scandalous," Kelsey said sensibly.

"Yes, well, we're in the 18th century. There's scandalous as in _oh, how forward of me, I'll have to blush behind my fan for a moment_, and then there's scandalous as in something truly unacceptable and horrifying to say." Abby clarified, poking her blanket into hills and valleys with a finger. "I don't want to chase him away by being a complete idiot. Which I usually am, when I'm talking to guys."

"You were talking with him and those other two sailors for ages last night. The four of you were practically rolling on the deck with laughter at one point."

"Oh, Kimberly was telling us about the stories his grandmother would tell when she got drunk."

"Who's drunk?" asked Holly sleepily from behind Abby.

"No one," Kelsey said.

"Wha'time's it?" Holly mumbled, rubbing her eyes.

"Not sure. Six-ish? What are we doing today, anyway?"

"Class, but the Commodore said we didn't have to bring our books."

"You know, that should be a good thing," Abby said slowly, "But I feel an ominousness about it."

"Ominousness isn't a word," Siren mumbled from her blankets without waking up.

"This lesson was originally going to come much later on, but I find it infuriating how you all continue to view pirates as romantic, heroic symbols of rebellion against the unjust," Norrington told them later that morning, in the room that they had been using as their classroom. "I think it's time we stopped and discussed exactly what it is pirates do."

"We've been doing that almost the entire time we've been here," Linsey interrupted. "We've been taught by the actual pirates. You're not going to be telling us anything we don't already know." Since they didn't need their books, the assorted chairs and stools they had been using as chairs had been pushed into a circle to facilitate discussion, and the crates that they had used as desks were stacked in a corner of the room.

"And not all of them are romantic," Holly added as the commodore opened his mouth to speak again. "We learned that part a while ago. Some of them are just weird and violent."

"Some of _us_ are just weird and violent," Cate pointed out. Norrington got to his feet with what sounded suspiciously like an exasperated growl.

"Wait. Here. I need to go get something."

He left the room and the students looked at each other.

"So," Grace finally said. "What's gotten into him this morning?"

"PMS?" Summer suggested.

"What is the PMS?" asked Angel, who— having already learned the words 'FBI,' 'CIA,' and 'IRA' from the other students— was under the impression that things referred to by acronyms involved espionage or politics.

"Not _the _PMS. It's like, the week before your monthly bleeding, how you get all cranky and overly emotional and crave chocolate," Tierza tried to explain.

"I don't think that exists yet," Sarah said slowly after a moment of thought.

"I've never known a single woman who claimed to have a… a PMS," Angel added. "Are you sure it even exists in your time? I mean, some of you are like that every week of the month. Maybe it's just your imaginations."

Norrington came back into the room and slammed the hatch behind him, something furry dangling from his hand.

"You brought roadkill?" Linsey asked.

"It's a wig. From now on, you may only talk in this class if you are wearing a wig. Here. Only one of you gets to wear it at a time. If I get interrupted, I will take it back and no one will be allowed to talk but me," he said, sitting back down and handing it to Summer, who was sitting on his right. "If you have something to say, raise your hand and when the person who has the wig is done talking, they can pass it to you."

"What if they don't pass it to you?" Cate asked.

"Then they must not like you very much, must they? As I was saying, to put it in as simple words as possible, pirates are bad. They make their living destroying people's lives. Yes?" Kelsey had taken the wig from Summer and put it on.

"They don't destroy people's lives. They steal people's stuff. Lack of gold and jewelery and tea is not going to cause permanent damage."

"Because of course that's what all ships carry?" Norrington countered. "What about not having gunpowder or bullets? What about not having cloth, flour, or ink?"

"Don't shoot people," Tierza suggested after raising her hand and being tossed the wig, which she put slightly crookedly on her head. "Wear the clothes you already own. Eat less bread. Use a pencil."

"You are being unnecessarily dense and sarcastic. Fabric is used for hundreds of things, many of them as important as clothing or more so. Not everyone can get cornmeal or barley or rice locally. Flour, salt, and beans are primary food staples, and in many isolated areas, lives depend on the regular arrival of merchant ships. And it will take some luck finding that pencil in these parts, since pencils are imported from Europe. You'd have to make one yourself, beginning with mining your own lead. As for not shooting anyone, many people need guns to hunt for food and to defend their family from countless threats, not the least of which are marauding pirates. Though I suppose you'd just tell them to stop eating meat and live inland where the pirates can't reach them."

"Okay, so there's a chance that people can starve because of piracy, but it also supports people. What about Tortuga? Hundreds of people there make their living off pirates," Kat pointed out, taking the wig off Tierza's head and putting it on her own.

"And to obtain the wealth that they put into the economy of Tortuga, the pirates regularly raid and destroy countless other coastal towns. Besides, the loss of the pirates would hardly be a killing blow for Tortuga- Port Royal used to be much the same, and only when harsher laws were put in place against piracy did it become the prosperous and highly-regarded city it is now. Without the pirates that frequent its docks, Tortuga would have the opportunity to grow into a much safer place for its citizens to live. Unless you consider filth, venereal disease, and crime-ridden streets to be good for a city?" The commodore looked at each of them in turn with a challenging stare.

"There's filth, venereal disease, and crime everywhere," Angel told him scornfully. "You should know that at _your _age."

"There is more of all three in Tortuga than you would usually find in a city three times its size," Norrington countered. "And the prosperity of a single island is simply not worth the price that other innocent people are forced to pay. You're not children. You should be able to understand that at _your_ age." Angel sent him a death glare as he threw her own words back at her. "Have any of you ever seen the aftermath of a pirate raid on a village?"

"We've seen the aftermath of an attack on a ship," Abby volunteered, putting the wig on and then reaching up to catch it as it started to slide down over one eyebrow. "We know it's not always pretty."

"Attacks on ships are entirely different. There's only so much damage that can be done on a ship, and ships are manned by armed, able-bodied men. It isn't always pretty," he echoed her bitterly, "That's such an understatement of the situation that it's sickening. You've never walked through a village that's been destroyed by pirates, step over the corpses of men killed in the defense of their families, dogs and cats slaughtered and left to rot, homes torched and burned to the ground, among people who've lost every material posession they had. When a house burns, the ones who can't get out in time are the babies, the sick, and the elderly, though it's common for young men to die in those fires as well, going back in to try to get their son or wife or grandmother out when a burning beam falls on them or the stairs collapse. Those who survive, if they have no one to take them in, either starve or beg. Those who raise livestock have the choice to either die defending their animals or live to watch their livelihood gutted and roasted over a spit as a feast for the raiders, just as they have the choice to die defending their family or to let their wives and daughters be raped before their eyes. Why don't you look those people in the eye and tell them that their losses are going to support the economy of an island full of thieves and whores, and that makes it all right?"

"You've been to villages raided by pirates," Sarah said softly, giving the commodore a thoughtful look. "That's why you hate them so much."

"Yes, I have. So many times that I can't count them. Pirates are a scourge on the innocent. They take what they want and what they leave behind is pain, fear, and death."

"Not all pirates are like that," Becca said uncertainly. "They don't all rape women and kill innocent villagers. Some of them just like to rob ships carrying expensive goods. Greed and violence are only a part of it- the main thing, the heart of what makes a pirate…" she paused and then continued, her voice a little stronger. "… it's about refusing to bow and scrape for people who are stupid and greedy and arrogant but who think they have a right to be because they have money and power. It's about freedom, and love of the sea. They're people who don't fit into the system, so they make their own place in the world."

"By preying on the innocent. Putting together your own personal criminal gang in an already unjust world is no solution. Do you really think that pirates are like some sort of… Robin Hood characters who defy the unrighteous? Here's news for you: they defy everyone, good or bad, greedy tyrants and benevolent leaders alike."

"Yes," Holly said, "Because even if you are a 'benevolent leader,' that doesn't give you the right to dictate other people's lives."

_"Yes, it does,"_ Norrington insisted. "It's called 'civilization.' You may have heard of it before. It involves people working together under an organized government for the good of the whole society, not just themselves. It's the reason why we have things like trade, commerce, art, science, navigation, and medicine. Remember those? Aren't those good things? Or do you suppose that now that we've got them, we can go back to barbarism until we run out of weapons and manufactured goods and need to start over again to make more? "

"Some people have to live outside civilization," Koneka said, turning the wig over and over in her hands as she spoke. "They have the sea in their veins."

"That doesn't require robbery and murder. I've felt a soul-deep connection with the ocean for as long as I can remember, but I don't need to run around commiting random slaughter and shouting 'Avast!' to be true to myself. I've been able to live my life, take care of my crew, do my duty to my country without giving up the freedom of the wind on my face and a deck beneath my feet."

"You keep talking about running around killing innocent people," Nina said, and Koneka quickly tossed her the wig before she could get in trouble for talking without it. "Don't you know the pirates' code? Anyone on a ship that's been taken by the pirates has the choice to surrender and join the crew unharmed. No one has to die."

"Anyone left alive after the initial attack is said to have that choice," Norrington corrected her. "Or do you expect that before the pirates put a cannonball through a ship's hull or set it on fire, they send a man out in a little canoe to check and see if anyone wants to surrender beforehand? The _survivors_ are given the choice. And it's not much of a choice, considering. A member of the Navy turning pirate is treason- a hanging offense. They didn't mention that to you, did they?"

"A lot of them are members of the Navy who turned pirate," Tierza pointed out, "And they're still alive. It's only a hanging offense if you're sloppy enough to get caught."

"Catching pirates is really just a matter of us being in the right place at the right time. 'Sloppiness' doesn't mean they'll necessarily hang- Jack Sparrow is a prime example of this; he should be dead a dozen times over by now- and skill doesn't guarantee success."

"Captain Jack Sparrow," all the students corrected him at once, and then each launched into their own indignant defense of their idol, filling the room with a tangled din of female voices and forcing Norrington to raise his voice to get their attention.

"I don't see wigs on your heads," he reminded them.

"Some of us," Angel said bitterly, "Think with our minds instead of our fake hair."

"Do you really?" Norrington did not look convinced. "Then think with your minds about what I've told you. Murder. Rape. Destruction. Starvation. Is it worth all that, just so a few men in pretty hats can amuse you with their adventures and their quirky mannerisms?"

He left them sitting there in an awkward silence.


	20. Ch18: Opium Trade and Impending Doom

DISCLAIMER: All I own is myself and a few characters. The rest are commandeered from Disney and possibly you.

AN: Zevi (the puppy) got better after a few very scary weeks and is big and strong and healthy and full of love now. I was in another car accident involving construction equiptment (!)and the car was totaled, but I somehow walked out without a scratch and the other driver was cited, so his insurance will probably end up paying the bill. The semester ended, I am taking a ceramics class for the first summer session, I'm looking for a job once more, and my mom's getting a minor operation done in a few days that's not very dangerous but will keep her bedridden for over a month afterwards. Other than that, life goes on as usual. I hope you all passed your classes and are enjoying your summer break.

* * *

The sails of the HMS Dauntless billowed fat with a strong tailwind, and the background noises of the sailors' assorted conversations were a lulling murmur in Abby's ears as she leaned against the railing of the ship and watched the horizon.

How, she wondered, could she reconcile the basically good nature of her characters with the realities of how pirates made their living? Her heroine, Arielle Hawk, had been a deeply compassionate woman (and, admittedly, a bit of a Sue, but she would worry about that another time) and would have probably tried to defend the villagers in a village being raided, rather than siding with the raiders. For that matter, the Jack Sparrow in her story would have done the same thing. Suddenly, what she had thought was a fairly accurate interpretation of the pirate captain seemed terribly OOC.

Their love of the sea had been what had tied Arielle and her pseudo-Jack together, but no amount of love for the sea would bridge that kind of moral gap. As Norrington had pointed out, it wasn't just pirates who loved the ocean. Arielle would have more likely found her match in a merchant, a fisherman, or any of the dozens of professions who made their living on the waves without harming so many innocent people.

There had to be a way to make this work. She tried to remember everything she could about the ways pirates made money. Weren't there ports and cities that paid a tribute to them in return for their safety? Would it be feasible for a pirate captain to go after only a specific kind of merchant or navy branch because of some personal vendetta? Or would they not be able to survive if they were so picky about whom they robbed? Grace O'Malley had charged all who passed through "her" waters a toll and centered her operation on an island where, presumably, some of the men and women she commanded could produce their own food and supplies or sufficient trade goods to buy them.

There had to be a way.

"The first ship I sailed on, the Sea Nymph," a voice said from behind her. Edward stepped forward to stand next to her. "It had a figurehead of a mermaid with the wind in her hair, staring out to sea. Your silhouette reminded me of her for a moment."

Abby blushed, partly because of the compliment, but mostly because she'd been caught staring soulfully at the sea with the wind in her hair like some sort of damn Sue.

"Thank you, though I probably don't look anything like her up close." The last few words ended up muffled by a mouthful of her hair that had blown into her mouth when she opened it to speak. She quickly pulled all her hair back out of her face and awkwardly held it behind her head in one fist, not having anything in her pockets to tie the ponytail with. After weeks at sea, her hair was pretty filthy, and she spat several times to get the taste of sweat, pitch, and brine out of her mouth.

"Not so much when you do that," he remarked with a wry glance. "So what's on your mind?" He casually leaned on the rail beside her. "You look troubled."

"Pirates," Abby confessed, turning to give him a wry glance. "Pirates, and whether it's possible for a morally decent person to live as a pirate, and if so, how?"

"What happened when you were captured by those pirates that made you all so fascinated with piracy?" Edward asked, furrowing his brow slightly. "I've never known anyone but the Commodore to talk about pirates as much as you lot, and he just talks about destroying them, while all of you…"

"… actually like them. We weren't exactly captured against our will," Abby confessed, hoping she wouldn't get in trouble for telling him this. "We came onto their ship by choice, to learn about them. Siren, our teacher, arranged it. As an… educational… thing. They didn't harm us, just made us work harder than we were used to. We became friends with them. It's hard to think of them as cruel murderers of women and children."

"And I thought my education was strange. What were you taught about?" he asked, to her relief looking curious rather than horrified.

"Fighting, crewing a ship, fishing, trading, rum, some history. A little about commandeering a ship."

"And your menfolk approve of you learning all that? Not that I'd know much about what they teach girls in those fancy schools, but I'd have thought there'd be more… I dunno, curtsying and embroidering and such. I mean, my sister can hold her own with a knife and has a killer right hook, but that's on account of us growing up in the slums. And fishing and trading are all very well, but people of your rank can just buy fish or a ship if they want them, rather'n getting them the hard way."

"What makes you assume we're rich?" she asked, blinking at his assessment.

"Well, your family could afford to send you to boarding school, right? Compared to most of us, that's rich. I mean, maybe not so rich you leak silver out your ears, but still rich." Abby burst out laughing at the mental picture of silver leaking out of somebody's ears, and he grinned back at her unrepentantly.

"I like your laugh, you know. You don't titter. You don't hide your smiles. Not that you'd need to; you've got perfect teeth." Edward tilted his head and gave her a long look. Abby smiled shyly, not sure what to say. Nobody ever really mentioned her laugh, and she'd certainly never been complimented on her teeth before. She took a chance and placed her hand lightly on his.

"Um, you too. Not the perfect teeth part, just… I like your smile too… and your laugh… I mean…" This was what happened when she tried to flirt with guys. She sounded either sappy or mentally retarded.

"I'm flattered... I think." He didn't look like he knew what to say either. Maybe she had finally found someone as awkward as herself. This was either a wonderful thing or a new level of pathetic-ness. Was pathetic-ness a word? A.N: No, it is not.

"Is pathetic-ness a word?" she asked, then realized she'd said it aloud.

"Could be. Why?" Edward wanted to know.

"No reason." She gave a vague shrug and they fell silent, watching the sailors (she still had trouble referring to them as seamen with a straight face) tighten the halyard that made the main's'l billow out.

"I need to get back to work," Edward finally said after about ten minutes of companionable silence. Somehow, being at sea seemed to make lulls in conversation into something comfortable rather than embarrassing. She wasn't sure how that worked, but it did. "P'raps I'll see you later on."

As she returned his goodbye, Abby decided that he most certainly would see her later on, even if she had to break out of the brig to meet him.

When she returned to the mess hall, where they had been eating breakfast when she'd left, it was empty, though she found Angel and a young seaman whose name she'd forgotten washing dishes in the galley. They were both elaborately pretending to ignore each other- pretending because at the same time, they were both trying to take up the space at the center of the sink and shove the other one into the corner. There was a lot of scowling and elbowing involved.

"Where is everybody?" Abby wanted to know, glancing nervously behind her at the empty mess hall.

"At class," Angel replied, stacking several clean plates somewhat more forcefully than necessary.

"And you are…" she trailed off, looking at the other girl questioningly.

"Washing dishes. They're in the usual 'classroom.'" Abby hesitated before shaking her head and hurrying to the classroom, resolving to ask someone about that later. She slipped quietly into the room and found, to her relief, that people were still chatting and finding seats while the Commodore and Siren seemed to be comparing their lecture notes and debating over which ones to use.

"We've got both of them today?" Abby asked Grace, slipping into an empty seat.

"I'm afraid so. Though they could spend the class arguing with each other instead."

"We can only hope," Abby replied with a wry smile which was replaced with disappointment when the Commodore tapped on the desk the way he had taken to doing when he wanted to get their attention. "Guess not."

"Today you are going to learn the history of the British East India Company," he announced, to a general chorus of despairing moans.

"Which was the biggest government-sponsored drug cartel in recorded history," Siren added, and the moans stopped, heads turning to look at her in mingled surprise and interest.

"The EIC is not a drug cartel," Norrington said firmly, then paused. "What's a cartel? Is it like a cartulary?"

"What's a cartulary?" Siren asked.

"Someone who keeps church records. What's a cartel?"

"A drug cartel is an organization that controls drug-trafficking and works together to keep prices fixed and other drug dealers out of business."

"Oh. This is bad?" Norrington asked, looking slightly puzzled. "_Someone _has to sell drugs and monitor their prices." There was a murmur of disbelief among the students.

"I think we're having another misunderstanding over words," Siren said after a moment of thought. "When we say drugs we're generally referring to recreational drugs, drugs people take to get high… damn, what's the 18th century term for getting high?... drugs people take for fun, drugs that haven't been given to them by doctors for an illness. Like opium eaters."

"Opium _is_ given for some illnesses," Norrington argued, "It isn't the merchant's responsibility to control what people do with it after it's been sold. It's a profitable trade good."

"It's also an addictive substance and you ship far more of it to the Orient than they could possibly require for medicine," Siren pointed out. "The EIC maintains giant warehouses filled with thousands of tons of the stuff, in a smoke-able form."

"Really?" Kat asked, looking impressed.

"Really. Go on, deny it," Siren challenged the commodore, who shook his head, bemused.

"We also have warehouses filled with cloth, gunpowder, china, tobacco, and other popular trade goods. What's the difference?"

"I know you grow the tobacco in the Americas, but where on earth do you get that much opium?" Linsey wondered.

"It's grown on plantations in India," Norrington replied.

"I've always thought opium plantations must have been beautiful, miles of tall poppy plants waving in the sun," Siren mused. "Are they?"

"I've never been to one myself." Norrington rolled his eyes at her. "Beautiful poppies waving in the sun. Sometimes you're as bad as they are. Anyway, I don't know why this is so shocking to all of you. Isn't there opium in your time?"

"I'm sure someone still makes it somewhere, but not so much of it," Koneka explained. "You don't see people smoking it. Nowadays, we put poppyseeds on bagels instead of making them into drugs."

"That's not entirely true; heroin is made from poppies," Siren interjected.

"What's a bagel?" the commodore interjected.

"It's food. Let's not get sidetracked onto bagels, please," Siren said before anyone could explain. "In our time there is a much bigger division between prescription drugs and recreational drugs, because we have pharmaceutical companies advertising the former and laws forbidding the latter. In these times, though, you could buy medical drugs from anyone. No prescriptions required. You could walk into a drugstore and buy a little opium to put in your baby's milk so it would stop crying. This was an actual remedy." Abby nearly choked on her own spit in surprise.

"You're not supposed to give opium to babies every time they cry," Norrington interrupted, looking indignant. "It can be used when they're teething, but it's mainly given to adults."

"What, 'the baby's teething, so let's get him so stoned he doesn't care?'" Holly asked with incredulous sarcasm.

"Basically. And laudanum, which was basically a weaker, more primitive version of heroin, was recommended for all sorts of things. Colds, fevers, menstrual cramps, insomnia, depression… people would take a few drops of laudanum for pain the way we take aspirin." Siren shook her head. "A lot of women became addicted to it. It was more socially acceptable for a woman to take laudanum than it was for her to get drunk."

"Did the EIC sell laudanum, too?" Summer wanted to know.

"Laudanum is made from opium as well. Generally druggists buy the opium and make the laudanum out of it themselves," Norrington explained, still looking somewhat insulted at the implications against the EIC.

"Quit pouting," Nina advised him. "You don't look dignified when you pout. We're trying to take you seriously despite your blind loyalty to the Navy and those drug dealers."

"I don't think you understand. The Navy and the East India Company have done so much for the world." Norrington began pacing the room, ticking off points on his fingers. "Securing trade routes, eradicating threats to citizens, spreading new technologies and sciences, retrieving historical artifacts, defending our colonists, civilizing much of the Orient and the New World, controlling the market…"

"Eradicating threats to citizens means executing our pirates," Cate said.

"Civilizing means destroying and enslaving native cultures because they're '_un_civilized.'" Tierza let out a scornful huff of breath.

"Defending colonists means helping them fight against the local people whose land they stole," Kelsey added.

"Retrieving historical objects means grave-robbing and stealing from monuments and holy places," Siren pointed out.

"And controlling the market means no free trade," Becca concluded. "You guys are jerks."

"Jerks who sell the people they conquer muskets and gunpowder and telescopes," Sarah added with an edge of sarcasm, "and then get all surprised when the natives use those wonderful new technologies to try and chase you off their land."

"I don't have to listen to this nonsense from children," Norrington said with a dark look, handing his lecture notes to Siren. "I have better things to be doing than talking to students who haven't actually been born yet but think they know everything about how the world should be run in this century. If you'd been transported to the Caribbean a few hundred years ago, you wouldn't have been fed good food and educated and treated with dignity. You would have been killed and eaten by savages." His tone implied that maybe if they'd been killed and eaten by savages, that would have shook some sense into them.

The commodore did not slam the hatch this time, but closed it politely after him, as if demonstrating civilized behavior to emphasize his point.

"Wow, that was entertaining to watch. You guys have become experts at pissing him off," Siren marveled. "Though I feel I should say in his defense that the vast majority of educated British people in this century think the same way he does. He's actually fairly open-minded for his era and culture. The 18th century British- and for that matter, the 16th, 17th, and 19th century British- their politics and morality are based on the assumption that England is the most enlightened and civilized country in the world and that entitles them to be in charge of everyone else. It's something they're raised to believe."

"You're saying he's brainwashed?" Holly looked skeptical.

"No, not brainwashed. I think we need an example. Will all the Americans in the room raise their hands?"

At least half the students' hands flew up.

"Do you believe that citizens of the US have more freedoms and opportunities than those of other countries? And that Americans have a duty to spread peace, democracy, and freedom to other countries?"

"Absolutely," Becca replied, "But that's different from Britain. We don't enslave people; we try to help them. We're not an empire."

"We have the bill of rights. The country was built around the idea of the rights the citizens should have, not the rights the government should have," Abby pointed out, rewinding her memory back to her seventh-grade Social Studies class.

"And I don't know about peace, but someone born in America has a lot more opportunities. You can be born dirt poor and become a millionaire, which doesn't happen in other countries." Linsey was playing with her hair as she spoke.

"Actually, it does happen," corrected Kelsey. "At least, in Canada it does. Maybe not very often, but it doesn't happen _anywhere_ very often, even America. And we have better education than you do, which means in a way we've got more chances."

"In fact, America has the worst educational system of any first-world country, and we don't spread freedom, we spread fast food chains. But that's not what we were taught to believe growing up, so we don't think about it that way," Siren said, cutting off the brewing political argument. "Let's be realistic here. Even if they're not technically the best, no one wants to wave flags that say, 'We're number two!' Every country teaches a version of history that makes itself look like the good guys, the enlightened ones. Powerful countries are desirable allies to have, so a lot of other countries just suck it up and humor them in that belief as long as they're benefiting from the alliance."

"I want a flag that says, 'We're number two!'" Kat looked gleeful. "You could wave it at sports games and confuse people."

"So you're saying that all the places the British have colonized have to humor them, and that makes it look even more obvious to the British that they're superior?" Cate wanted to know.

"They've met resistance from one main power that's proving to be a real struggle for them at the moment," Siren said, picking up her notes once more. "The Chinese Empire. Imperialism and thinking that your country is superior and other races are uncivilized… it's not a uniquely Western attitude. Take what the British think about the natives of the places they colonized and multiply it by five. Now you've got something like China's view of the Europeans. They had an advanced civilization and written language while the Europeans were still superstitious tribesmen wearing rags and hitting each other with sticks. The British have advanced since then, but the Chinese opinion of them has stayed about the same. The British had an incredibly hard time getting China to agree to trade with them in the first place. It took years. And the trade agreements they finally had to settle for were so incredibly condescending… the British merchants had to do just about everything short of tattooing a sign saying, 'We are your bitches' on their foreheads."

"And they went along with it?" Koneka asked.

"They had to if they wanted to trade with China. China had tons of stuff Britain wanted, but Britain had pretty much nothing China wanted. The only thing they'd accept in trade was silver. They didn't want to buy bales of wool and kegs of gunpowder. They wove silk brocade. They'd _invented_ gunpowder. They thought Western food was pretty much the most disgusting thing ever. They had the finest, most beautiful porcelain in the world, thus the reason it's called china, and their metalwork was of a much higher quality than anything Europe had to offer. But the prices all these things went for in China were incredibly low, so anyone who was able to make a trade connection with the Orient became a very rich man. Went along with it? You bet. They called it the Canton System" Siren looked as if she were enjoying herself.

"What did China make them do?" Sarah wanted to know.

"They only had access to one port, Canton, during a couple months of the year. They had to stay in quarantined areas, pay completely arbitrary docking fees and taxes- in other words, whatever the people at the ports thought they could get away with charging on that day- and they weren't allowed outdoors unsupervised, even in the port cities they were trading in. They were Europeans, stinking white devils with no souls. They might contaminate something with their un-Chinese presence. They got put in little dormitories, where they sat and waited for days until someone had time to deal with them, and were charged docking fees all the while. They were forbidden to learn Chinese or associate with anyone but the government officials in charge of managing trade with Westerners, to whom they had to literally prostrate themselves on the ground every time they met with them. They didn't have to grovel on their bellies before European _royalty_, but here they had to do it before petty foreign officials. And they did, because once they came back with all the Chinese goods, they were rich men."

"I can't quite imagine the commodore groveling," Tierza mused.

"He doesn't deal directly with the Chinese, so he doesn't have to. In any case, this caused resentment of China to build and build as Britain's coffers were drained of silver. Then, they finally found a product they could get the Chinese to buy or trade for. Guess what."

"Opium," Grace answered.

"And that is how the British East India Company ended up becoming drug dealers," Siren concluded. "China eventually- _will_ eventually, I should say, since it hasn't happened yet- will eventually outlaw it, and Britain will finally snap and launch an attack against them that the Chinese wouldn't even have dreamed of expecting, even from uncivilized foreigners. You've probably heard about the Opium Wars. When Britain wins, they force the Chinese to submit to trade regulations that are nearly as bad as the ones the Chinese had forced on them, and then they colonize parts of China, dump a bunch of Christian missionaries on them, and gloat. Aren't humans just the nicest creatures?

"How much of this has happened already in this time?" Nina asked.

"Just the first bit. Opium is starting to take the place of silver in trade between Britain and China, and the Canton System is still in place. The British are trying to bargain for a more equal standing, as they have been doing for over a hundred years, but the emperor won't even grant them audiences anymore, so they're stuck with what they've got."

"Well, bummer."

"Well, at least now we have real historical reasons to like the pirates better than the British," Holly pointed out later that afternoon as she, Kelsey, Koneka, and Abby hung out on the lower deck, practicing their sailors' knots on some rope they had found in the storeroom.

"You mean, we have reasons to hate everybody equally, so we get to show some bias towards the ones who are more fun?" Abby retorted, tying and then untying an anchor hitch.

"You are becoming almost anti-pirate lately," Koneka observed shrewdly. "It wouldn't have anything to do with that Navy guy you've been mooning over, would it?"

"No! Ed's not anti-pirate! And I'm not either. It's just… I thought I knew more than most people about pirates, but the more I learn, the more it seems like all the things I loved about them aren't true. Why is it any consolation to you that the East India Company is just as bad? I'd almost rather hear that they're the good guys than hear that there are no good guys and everyone just sucks." her voice got quieter as she spoke. "Can I be neutral? Like Switzerland?"

"Not if we end up in a battle," Holly replied, completing a perfect splice and starting on a sheet bend.

"Besides, you can at least let your hormones guide you," Kelsey encouraged her. "Sure, you like Edward, but aren't you still a Jack fangirl at heart?"

"Maybe my brain's starting to overrule my hormones," Abby said, inadvertently tying her middle finger to her thumb as she lifted her head to look defiantly at the others. "Maybe I don't want to be an _anybody_ fangirl any more."

"I'm not a fangirl of any specific character and it's been working for me so far. Did you just tie your fingers together?" Koneka asked, reaching over to pull Abby's hands to where she could see them better and starting to untangle them. Kelsey was sitting there, strangely silent, a hint of tension in her posture and unfocused eyes.

"I'm sorry for abandoning you and the other Jack fangirls," Abby began to apologize and was stopped when Kelsey held up a hand for silence.

"Does anyone else hear that?"

Holly put down her rope and tilted her head to one side as Koneka and Abby looked at them curiously.

"You're right, it sounds familiar," she replied after a second, running her fingers absentmindedly over a scar near her elbow. "Is Ben playing his flute belowdecks?"

"I think I hear it too," Koneka said a moment later. "Sounds more like someone whistling." Abby stood, then pitched sideways when she tried to take a step.

"Ow, you stepped on me! What happened to your sea legs?" Kelsey demanded.

"It wasn't me! The ship moved the wrong way. Something weird is happening here."

"The waves have been getting bigger these last few moments, that's all," Holly said.

"They're coming from the wrong direction," Abby insisted. "I'm not crazy. Stand up and see for yourselves."

"I'm gonna go check if anything's wrong." Kelsey stood and began to make her way towards the main deck. A strange pitching of the ship nearly tipped her off her feet. She caught herself on a gunwale and pulled herself back upright. "Okay, that wasn't normal."

"I think we're about to experience a storm at sea," Koneka said, getting carefully to her feet. "At least we don't have to worry about rocks or reefs this far out."

"There's hardly a cloud in the sky." Abby looked up at the bright blue canopy skeptically. "Correction: there are no clouds in the sky. None."

"Whirlpool?" Kelsey suggested.

The ship pitched violently again, and the normal rhythms of the sailors' banter and shouted instructions went up another level of urgency. The four girls struggled to get to the main deck as the ocean grew increasingly choppy, tossing them from one side of the deck to the other, riding high on the crests of the waves, then plummeting back down. _I am going to be covered in bruises tomorrow_, she thought to herself, wincing as she landed on her elbow on the deck and a barrel full of something heavy slid over to tip over and land on her back. Someone was shouting for all hands to come to the main deck, and she thought she heard a scream. A moment later, the world tipped in the other direction and the barrel rolled off her, allowing her to stumble to her feet with a wince and throw her arms out just in time to grab the mast and hug it tightly instead of crashing into the side of the ship headfirst. She heard the shouts and commands as if they were coming from far away, and identified Norrington's voice and Edward's. She bit her lips to keep from calling to Edward; she was as safe here as anywhere else abovedecks, and he was probably doing important things with lines and sails and things—her mind, in panic, had completely blanked on all the nautical techniques and vocabulary she'd learned over the past month—and then the shouting turned to terrified screams. Something dark smacked the ship, sending water spraying everywhere. There was a strange smell in the air and she identified the next shape that passed through her field of vision. It was a tentacle. A very large tentacle.

_What's the Kraken doing here?_ was her last conscious thought as it snapped backwards to wrap around her, wrenching her away from the mast and into the water with such force that everything went black.


	21. Ch19: A Bunch of Leagues Under The Sea

DISCLAIMER: All I own is myself and a few characters. The rest are commandeered from Disney and possibly you.

A.N: I am operating on some basic assumptions regarding Davy Jones's crew, some of them confirmed by the movies and online information. One: The less human-like they look in general, the longer they have been in Jones's service. (confirmed) Two: Any injuries obtained within Jones's service do not heal over like human skin but rather become reminiscent of undersea life or merge into the ship. (unconfirmed but it makes sense to me) Three: The ship spends most of its time underwater. (logic- how else would they get barnacles growing on them unless they were under the sea?) Four: Having spent in many cases up to hundreds of years underwater, they know many things about undersea life that were not generally known in the 18th century. (unconfirmed)

I have taken the liberty of sketching in backgrounds/stories for a few of the crewmen while remaining true to all the information I have about them. The only members of the crew whose origins are actually known are Bootstrap Bill and (to some extent) Davy Jones. I can't find any information about any of the rest of them other than their nicknames, appearance, weapons, and behavior in the movies. Anything other than that IS NOT CANON and should not be taken as such (though if you like any of the ideas I provide for their pasts/origins, you're welcome to use them.) I went for as much variety as I could think of- a Spanish conquistador, Portugese fishermen, a pirate captain, a Danish smuggler, a Javan merchant, and so forth.

Shoney is a Celtic sea god who presides over all things sunk into the deep ocean.

References to Davy Jones predate both the first Brethren Court AND the legend of the Flying Dutchman by centuries, and in the legend of the Flying Dutchman, the captain is not Davy Jones, so I sort of rationalized the only explanation for all this that could make sense without contradicting canon. (It contradicts Wikipedia in a couple small details, but it does not contradict canon.)

Also keep in mind that since this is pre-AWE, none of the students know any details of the story of Davy Jones or the Flying Dutchman not revealed in DMC.

As in the movie, Hadras speaks Cantonese sometimes. As stated below in the story, Siren does not know Cantonese. She had to look it up on online phrase sites. There may be mistakes.

* * *

Abby woke by slow increments, her body feeling both heavy and unusually light at the same time, distantly aware that something was very wrong. She was lying on a surface of some sort, she realized. Her motions were slower than usual, as if the air had thickened, and when she opened her eyes, everything was dark, hazy, and greenish.

She was underwater.

She was lying on the deck of a ship.

Also, she was not breathing. Which would mean, theoretically, that she was dead. But she could feel the sides of her neck expanding and contracting rhythmically, sucking in and expelling water. How….? She lifted her hand and found that she had what must be gills.

She sat up with a groan, feeling various parts aching fiercely. As she reached up to rub her temples, she saw an odd dark spot on her hand and tried to wipe it off on her sleeve.

Nothing happened.

She had gills and there was a black spot on her hand, and the last thing she remembered was the kraken pulling her under the sea…

"The Flying Dutchman!" she cried, and instead of bubbles, more seawater came out of her mouth as she spoke, her words muffled and watery, but audible. Her lungs must be filled with water. That would gross her out if she stopped to think about it, so she didn't. She heard a groan come from somewhere nearby and squinted at the deck around her through the murky greenness. Someone with red hair was crumpled on the deck a few feet away. Slowly—as much because of her dizziness as the fact that the water slowed her motions—she began to investigate the upper deck, carefully stepping over a couple fellow students who were still unconscious.

"Hello," a gravely voice said from behind her. She spun around and then shrieked.

The apparition before her was seemingly made out of coral, with no trace of humanity in its face- a tangle of coral forming a twisted mouth in the center of the face under a single red eye. He—it?—was wearing a ragged bandana. She tried to remember if she'd seen him in the movies, but abandoned the effort. Did it matter? He was here and, well, holy crap.

"Am I dead?" she asked shakily. The creature let out a derisive noise and shook his monstrous head a few times.

"Not yet, girlie. D'ye wanna be?" he offered, holding out a slightly barnacled but very sharp hook in what she later realized was probably the politest death threat she'd ever gotten. At the time, however, and coming from the monster in front of her, it was just freaky. She stumbled backwards a few steps, groped for her sword only to realize it was still in the hold of the Dauntless where Beckett had stored all their weapons, and waved her hands in front of her as if they could provide some sort of protection.

"Don't kill me! I'm… very useful! And clever! I can um…" she struggled to come up with any skill she had that wasn't posessed in much greater quantities by every other sailor on the Dutchman. "… knit? Do you want a sweater? For your pet fish? Do you have a pet fish? Or, or…" she bit her lip, mentally eliminating skills inapplicable underwater during the 18th century. Wait, she had it! "I can predict the future."

He made a gravely noise and his mouth contorted to reveal the tips of sharp teeth. Abby realized after a moment of sheer terror that he was laughing. At her. She mentally reviewed what she had just said and grimaced.

"I'm smarter than I sound?" she offered before cracking up in laughter that had a touch of hysteria in it. She laughed until she was almost in tears, then abruptly realized that he had stopped laughing about a minute ago and was looking at her with an expression that could have been anything—it was hard to read that inhuman face.

"What's yer name?"

"Abby. Um, what's yours?"

"Ogilvey," he rumbled. "Welcome to the Flying Dutchman. You an' yer friends are bound to serve Davy Jones fer a hundred—" Abby's face began to go pale in horror—"hours."

"Oh. Oh! Hours. Hours are good. Hours are very good. A hundred hours. Okay," she babbled. "How did we get bound to serve anyway? I need to sit down." Ogilvey watched with… some other undecipherable expression… as she plopped herself down on an algae-covered crate.

"Forgot 'er name, but the lass over there said you signed a contract," he said, gesturing towards the other end of the ship. Her eyes were still adjusting to the dark, but she could see a vague outline of a few other people standing in a group.

"The small print on the application form. Damn it."

"I'm drowning!" someone yelled suddenly, and Abby stood and walked in the direction of the voice to find Becca flailing clawing at the water around her with wide eyes, trying to swim upwards.

"You're not drowning! You have gills," she told the younger girl, who looked at her blankly and shook her head. "Yes, you do. I can see them. You're breathing with them. Otherwise you'd be dead. How do you think you're still alive?"

Becca made a few choking noises, then started patting her torso frantically, trying to feel for the gills.

"They're on your neck," Abby reassured her. "We're on the Flying Dutchman. It's all right. This was planned."

"Th'Fly'ng Dutchman?" Tierza slurred from a few feet away, struggling to a sitting position. "mm not dead. Think I'd know if I were dead." She looked down at herself, dazed, her pupils so fully dilated that it looked like she had no iris at all. "I'm not wearing shoes," she said to nobody in particular, then passed out, slumping unconscious on the planks of the deck.

"Crap, what was that?" Abby stood. "I'm gonna find Siren, or somebody. Don't let her get up if she wakes up again." She ran towards the group of figures Ogilvey had pointed out before, feeling like she was in a dream with the slow-motion movements that the water limited her to.

Siren, Summer, Angel, and Cate were standing in a little cluster talking to Bootstrap Bill and another crewman who appeared to be made entirely of coral, with tentacles and anemones where his face ought to have been. They turned at her approach.

"There's something wrong with Tierza," she told them, speaking loudly so the sound would carry through the thick murk of the water. She couldn't help staring at the coral man. How does he see? How does he talk? "She woke up for a second, but her eyes were all funny and she was slurring her words and then she passed out."

"That sounds like a concussion. Crap. Did you have to smack them around so hard?" Siren demanded, looking off past the railing of the ship to a huge dark shape. The Kraken? "Abby, this is Palafico and you probably recognize Bootstrap Bill. Hadras is around here somewhere—"

"Dim a," said a voice from down by their feet, making everyone but Bootstrap and Palafico jump. A shell with a giant hermit crab walked by, it's body shifting momentarily to show a man's smiling face.

"Have I mentioned how creepy it is when you do that?" Siren demanded, looking down at the ambulatory head/crab. "And none of us know Cantonese. I can say hello and curse a little in Mandarin, but that's the extent of my Chinese."

"At? Gok yu? Tse guei po." Hadras, or at least his head, spat contemptuously. "Mandarin. Höü se la lei." He twisted himself back around and scuttled away, perhaps to reunite with his body.

"All right then," Siren said, a slightly bemused look on her face. "We need a bunk for Tierza, preferably one that moves as little as possible. She's going to have to stay in it for a couple days, and I'll talk to the Captain about getting her excused from physical labor. Get…" she paused as if going over a mental list. "… see if you can get Becca to look after her, she said on her application she was qualified to do serious first aid. I'll figure out what to do about someplace for her to rest, meanwhile try not to move her too much. Why don't you guys," she directed this remark at Cate, Angel, and Summer as well as Abby, "go see who else is awake. Nicely, Angel. And Summer, keep the volume down. They probably have headaches. I know I do.

Eventually they had rounded up all their fellow-students and gathered on the foredeck. Most of the crew of the Dutchman joined them, muttering, leering, snickering, and (purposely, Abby suspected) being disturbing in general. Davy Jones had still not appeared.

"All right. Time for introductions," Siren announced. "Would you guys mind introducing yourselves? I admit I haven't quite gotten you all sorted out yet myself. And we'd like to hear anything you want to tell us about you as well. We didn't get to know you through the movies as well as we'd have liked."

The crewmen looked at each other as if wondering who was going to go first. Finally the one with the hammerhead shark's head stepped forward. His left hand and arm were covered in what looked like a crustacean shell, and when he spoke, he revealed a mouth full of sharklike teeth.

"Maccus. First mate." He glanced at another crew member, who spoke without moving from where he leaned against the mizzenmast. Half his face and part of his shoulder were covered with the spiny skin of a pufferfish, which inflated and deflated with his breathing. The human side of his face was covered with pockmarks and actual holes, as if it was rotting away. He seemed to be wearing a shirt made of some sort of seaweed.

"Koleniko. I'm underwater navigator on account of seein' in the dark," he said, gesturing to the large, dark fish eye on the spined side of his face with a finlike hand. His voice had a slight, unfamiliar accent. "I was captain of m'own ship before I died. Crash there was m' first mate." He nodded towards a crewman with mandibles instead of a mouth and a right leg that seemed to turn into a tentacle, who grunted wordlessly in acknowledgement. The next crewman to speak was covered in seaweed, with rough, green skin and an almost conical head. His eyes burned round and yellow from slit-shaped sockets.

"I'm navigator the rest of the time. I've served for near three hundred years. I'm the oldest save for Wyvern, Palafico, and the Captain himself. Don't need food nor sleep anymore." There was an impressed murmur from the students. Abby glimpsed mussels growing inside his mouth instead of teeth. "I'm called Greenbeard."

Sarah raised a hand hesitantly. "You don't have a beard, though."

"'S a joke," Greenbeard said. "Y'know, an elder, a graybeard? That's me. Only it's green I am, not gray. Greenbeard."

"They're too daft to get it," sneered a crewman with a bumpy, barnacle-ravaged fish face and a fin coming out of his back. "I'm JimmyLegs. I keep order 'mongst the crew. You set a foot wrong, you answer to me and the captain's daughter.".

"Davy Jones has a dau-" Linsey began to ask, only to be elbowed in the ribs by Grace, who muttered something in her ear. Abby thought she overheard "cat o' nine tails" and "shut up" from where she was sitting. JimmyLegs gave a cruel laugh.

"I'm Ratlin," said a crewman- one of the more human-looking ones, with rope and sailcloth seemingly fused to his face. "I was the quartermaster on a merchant ship wrecked in a storm off Cartageña. I been here nine years next Tuesday."

"Penrod, cabin boy," said something that looked more like a very large lobster with a cutlass than a human. "First one of you scum that makes a joke about the name, I eat you for lunch." Siren and the students carefully kept their faces empty of anything even slightly resembling humor.

The crewman made of coral with the tentacles in place of features spoke next. "I am called Palafico now, Don Fransisco Palafico in my youth. A few of you I have already met. I see with these—" he indicated the tentacles and antennae on his face. "—by feeling the movements of the water and air. Once, I was a seaman and conquistador. Though I condemned myself to this fate in a now lost age, I keep my name and my honor." Abby vaguely recalled that he'd been the one in Dead Man's Chest to assert that the captain should go down with the ship. Was that what he meant by honor? From what she'd learned in school, conquistadors were not particularly honorable guys, but Palafico didn't seem to find any contradiction there. She couldn't stop staring at his mouth, which was not quite where a mouth should be on his face. Until he'd begun speaking, she'd not known it was there.

The guy with the blue skin introduced himself simply as Angler and the one with the eel head, Morey. With the notable exception of Palafico, there seemed to be a trend of the older crewmen going by nicknames rather than the names they had borne in life.

"I'm Clanker," growled one of the others that Abby had immediately recognized from the movie—the one with the flat-nosed face covered in mussels, the hole in his forehead, and the algae-covered hat. There was chain shot and a pistol hanging from his belt in place of a cutlass. He had to make a slight effort to form the words properly, probably because his tongue had turned into something that looked like either a clam or an oyster inside his mouth. A few of the mussels on his cheeks opened and closed.

"Manray," offered the crewman with the head shaped like a stingray. Abby shivered as she looked at his silvery eyes. The pupil was shrunk to a tiny dot in the center, and she thought back to a documentary she had seen on psychopaths. Some of them had had eyes that stayed undilated like that. She looked away.

"They call us the Twins since we got stuck together like this," said a voice from above them, and everyone looked around to see a seaweed-covered plank lowering from the rigging a pair of men joined together like siamese twins at the shoulder and the stump of their center leg. Each twin had one arm and one leg of their own, and another arm grew out of their chest. They both had eyes like coral polyps and barnacle-encrusted feet that looked almost like cement blocks, and one of them had lobster claws growing out of his face. "Used to be reg'lar twins, but seventy years ago when Chris lost his leg too, we got in the habit of gettin' around like this, since put together we 'ad two legs. Then one night we passed out drunk that way, 'n when we woke up, we'd been sorta barnacled together. Weren't no trouble to stay like that, since we sat watch together anyway, an' by the time we thought to do anythin' 'bout it our skins had grown over an' we were stuck like ye see us."

"His name is Chris? What's your name?" Nina asked.

"Cristovão de Sousa," Chris said, swallowing the end of the word and giving it a sort of soft –ng sound. "And Baltasar de Sousa." He nodded towards his brother.

"Portugese?" Siren asked.

"Once. Now, we're just dead."

"How did you both lose your legs?" Grace asked as politely as such a question can be asked.

"He had a leg wound from a barbed hook that stuck in the flesh and festered back when we were fishermen," Chris replied. "I lost mine to something big with teeth. If I hadn't already been dead, I'd not have survived that one."

"Something big with teeth?" Kat repeated curiously. "What?"

"Damned if I know. Sea monster. Something we'd never seen before. When we told Wyvern, he said he thought he saw somethin' like that once, but it was dead." He shook his head. "Lots o' big nasty teeth." Baltasar rolled his eyes.

"Enough 'bout the teeth! He's always talkin' 'bout the teeth," he growled at the students. "Always the teeth. Don't encourage him."

"So you're the lookouts up in the crows nest, then?" Cate asked as the students bit back smiles at the interchange between the two.

"Right. We take turns sleepin'." There was a pause.

"Next?" Siren prompted the rest of them.

"Well. I'm Broondjongen," volunteered a crewman wearing a tricorn hat whose chest had the look of a partway open clamshell.

"Is that Dutch or something?" Tierza asked, wrinkling her brow.

"Dansk—Danish," he corrected her. "Best damned smuggler on the North Sea until the British Navy turned my ship into little bits o' timber." He scowled at the memory.

"Is that a… a skull in your, um, clamshell?" Summer asked, pointing shakily at the maw exposed by the opening.

"Nah, he's just happy ta see ya, girlie," Maccus cracked, leering, and the crew and those of the students who were not staring in horror at Broondjongen's chest started to snicker.

"Eh, him? 'S always been there." Broondjongen waved a hand dismissively. "'Course, back when I was alive, he was just a big funny lump under the skin. Then when I got down here… " he scratched his head. "We all start changin', after a while, see. One 'a the changes happened to me was I started to feel 'im movin' around sometimes. Then one day he started strugglin', clawed his way out. I din't know if I could kill 'im without gettin' myself in the bargain, but din't matter, in the end. He died less'n an hour later. Bloody weird-lookin' thing, he was." There was a low chorus of "ugh"s and "eew"s from the students at the story. The crew exchanged smug, amused looks.

"So you all sink to frightening women now for fun?" A crewman covered in tube coral with a scimitar belted around his waist asked scornfully from the shadows near the barrels of shot. "I am glad I have not become so desperate for company."

"Who are you?" Linsey asked. The man just sneered, then turned on his heel and walked towards a hatch that led belowdecks. The students exchanged glances.

"Ah, that's Piper. Don' mind him, he's from one o' them Arab desert tribes what's got to marry a buncha diff'rent women," a mussel-covered crewman in a stocking cap said mildly. "I 'spect the naggin' from all them wives gets so bad that they get into the habit o' just ignorin' anythin' with tits. He was a slave trader back when he was breathin'. I'm called Old Haddy."

"Finnegan here," said a man with a harelip who had the mottled stripy coloring of those fishes you see at the bottom of a reef blending into the rocks.

"I'm Jelly." The speaker was one of the more stomach-turning crew members, covered in jellyfish and seemingly part jellyfish himself, with bloated, almost diseased-looking skin. One of his eyes was solid black and seemed to be dead or blinded. "I was a trader in the waters around Java and Sumatra. I died in a mutiny."

"Your crew mutinied against you?" Angel asked, and he laughed harshly.

"I was one 'a the mutineeers."

A crew member covered with spines and another with a wheel embedded in his back and a compass in place of his left eye introduced themselves, appropriately, as Urchin and Wheelback.

Hadras, now attatched to his body, introduced himself and said he'd been quartermaster on a pirate ship that operated around the South China Sea, and then what looked like a sort of ambulatory smorgasbord of sea life, complete with an anemone where his mouth should have been, stepped forward and began to gesture with starfish-like hands. Greenbeard coughed and began to translate.

"Yeah, he can't speak no more. He's called Quittance. He says he died because of a woman's betrayal and he doesn't trust you women one bit, and he'll be watchin' ye."

"Can you write?" Siren asked Quittance, and received an expressionless look and a shake of the head. "Okay, one-way communication only, I see."

"The signs he uses, he made up his own self after his mouth grew together," Finnegan explained. "We can understand most of what he says. Not much to say down here anyway. He does fine."

"And ye know me," Bootstrap Bill said, concluded, absently scratching at a barnacle that was going on one cheek, "Or so ye say."

"Do we get to meet the captain?" Becca asked hopefully.

"Ye'll meet him when he decides ye will," Maccus told her sharply. "Git out of the way fer now. Penrod, show them to their quarters. We're goin' down to a decent depth, no more o' this warm-water, still seein' the sunlight foolery."

"Um… how will we see, then?" Kat asked.

"Lanterns, girlie. Penrod, remove them," Maccus repeated his order to the lobsterman, who shooed them towards a hatch.

"You have lanterns that work underwater?" Nina asked Penrod quietly, and he snickered.

"Maybe they use luminescent plants or sea creatures inside them," Siren theorized, and was confirmed by Penrod's sharp nod.

"This is becoming a trend, I see," Grace remarked a minute later as they were led into the brig. "Why doesn't anyone like us anymore?"

"Well, if it's this or sharing a cabin with somebody like Maccus or Piper, I think I'd prefer this," Linsey decided.

"Ugh," Sarah muttered, gathering the tattered hem of her skirt to try to keep it from dragging against the thick growths of algae and pools of sticky goo that grew on the floor. "I do not want to know what I'm stepping in."

"I kinda want to know what that is," Summer said, looking in fascinated horror as what had looked like part of the carpet of algae up ahead suddenly opened up into a toothy mouth and began to snap at them, reacting to the vibration of their footsteps. It wasn't much bigger than a bottlecap, small enough not to be able to do much to their shoes even if they were to step directly on it, but a finger or bare toe unwittingly placed over it would be in considerable danger of amputation.

"Hell, that is weird," Abby agreed, cautiously skirting around the miniature thing of evil that she couldn't turn up even the vaguest memory of hearing about in her biology classes. "Siren?"

"No clue. Though I think I'll name it Vincent. It looks like a Vincent," Siren declared, shrugging off the confused looks her students were shooting her. "I think Vincent and I will be friends. I know how he feels."

"You mean, you also feel like a moldy floor with teeth?" Cate asked slowly.

"No, like my territory is being invaded by noisy creatures and I want to tear their throats out, only I can't move." There was a moment of silence.

"Which is not exactly on our list of top ten things we want to hear from a person who we will be sharing a small, confined space with for the next several hours," Kat said quietly.

As it turned out, they were only in the brig for an hour and a half before they heard the ominous, slightly uneven footsteps of the captain approaching. At the sound, they abandoned their attempts to race two uncooperative crabs against each other and sat up straight. The crabs scurried into the corners of the room and the door swung open a moment later to reveal Davy Jones.

Abby found herself noticing a lot of tiny details that she hadn't caught while watching the movie: the color of his hat, the rot and algae that marred the wood of his peg leg, the fraying hem of his jacket.

"What a lot o' bloody oobits," he said, looking darkly at the students.

"Oobits?" Angel asked, looking offended. "What in hell is an oobit?"

"Three lashes," he replied calmly to her, "An' none 'a yer cheek."

"Scottish slang. A child who really really needs a bath," Summer translated at the same time. "You are from Scotland, then," she said, looking up at Jones. "Not Dutch."

"O' course I'm not Dutch," he sneered. "The Flying Dutchman is a name for the ship. Do I look like a bleedin' ship ta ye?"

"A name?" Nina asked. "How many names did you give it?"

"Not a one," Jones replied. "Mortals name it as they like. Legends an' such keech. An' I dinna come down ta blether with ye. Ye're on my ship now, ye follow my rules. Ye're told ta do aught, ye do it. Ye keep a civil tongue in yer mouth talkin' ta crew. Ye don't go guddlin' wit' nothin' or botherin' no one."

"Aren't you going to teach us, though?" Becca asked, looking up at him with sad puppy eyes.

"No. Ye'll be learnin' from the crew. Got somethin' wrong with yer deadlights, lass?"

"I… don't think I have any?" Becca replied hesitantly and Siren covered up a laugh with a cough.

"Eyes," she explained briefly.

"But we'd really, really like to learn about you and your history and stuff," Holly said hopefully to the captain, returning to the original subject.

"My history is none 'a yer concern," Jones snapped, stiffening. "Ye want history, go talk to Wyvern; tain't like he has aught else to do but answer yer questions." He turned on his heel and left.

"Well, that went well," Koneka said dryly.

"PMS?" suggested Angel.

"It didn't go that badly." Siren rose to her feet. "We got permission to talk to Wyvern about his history. He'll probably be willing to tell us more than the captain would anyway."

He was. Abby got the impression that he was rather lonely being stuck in the wall of the hold. Lonely and nice enough, when you came down to it, but very old fashioned. For example, the first thing he did upon being woken up was to gaze at them in consternation.

"Ye're women!" he proclaimed, shaking the lantern he held at them in emphasis and sending their shadows dancing across the hold. "What're ye doin' here? Get back on land, quick!" Abby hid a smile.

"That may be a little tricky, since we're in the middle of the open sea and probably a bunch of fathoms underwater as well," she told him, trying to sound apologetic.

"Women! Women!" he repeated, shaking his head. "What're them boys up there thinkin'? Ye can't go lettin' such onto a ship! Sure death, it is."

"We were under the impression that you guys were a little bit past worrying about death," Grace replied gently.

"What? Ah. Yes, right. Already dead, already under a curse… still, 'tis the principle of the thing," he grumbled. "What did ye want then?"

"To talk to you," Siren said. "We want to know everything about the Flying Dutchman and it's history and yours."

"And Davy Jones," Holly reminded her.

"And Davy Jones," Siren repeated.

"Oh, the new boy's a troubled lad. Got tricked into the job, he did, but that sort o' thing's to be expected when ye go playin' 'round with goddesses." Wyvern rolled his bloodshot eyes. "Took the whole thing rather badly."

"What job and what goddesses and why do you call him the new boy?" Kelsey wanted to know, leaning forward. "He's not… uh… particularly new."

"Eh? Y'mean ye don't know? Ah, that's a story, that is. I s'pose ye'll be wantin' me to tell it now. Sit down, then. Sit. Sit!" He was trying to sound reluctant and disapproving, but he had practically lit up with excitement at having an audience.

"Right, so ye don't even know what the ship's purpose is?" he asked. The students paused. It hadn't occurred to them that something as powerful and old as Davy Jones and the Flying Dutchman needed a purpose.

"To recruit dead sailors and um, sail around with them?" Cate asked, then looked slightly embarrassed as she realized how lame that sounded.

"No, no, lass! All that, that's the boy's doin'. Keepin' a bunch o' souls on board until they grows fishy bits an' seaweed all on 'em. That's not the way it was in the old days. No, back before he came on, we had a real job. Y'ever heard of.." he paused for a moment. "Ye know them Greek buggers what used to sit 'round arguin' 'bout how things exist an' carryin' on with schoolboys?"

"Yes," the students chorused. Their knowledge of history was very patchy in places, but everyone knew about the Greeks.

"They 'ad a fella. Think 'e was called… Sharon. Big barge, ferried souls who were dead to the what d'ye callit…"

"Afterlife," Siren said quietly. "Charon."

"Cause they thought there was a river," Wyvern continued, oblivious to her correction. "An' ye had to go across it if ye wanted to get dead properly. Somethin' like that. I reckon that story comes from one o' them not understandin' somethin' they was told by a sailor. Cause all we sailors knows it. Don't know 'bout no barges or what-all they does with men that die on land, but at sea, Davy Jones takes ye. No, 'ush up, I'm not done yet." He waved his hand at Kat, who had opened her mouth to speak.

"The way it use ta go was this: the ghost ship would come fer ya an' take yer ghost to the next world. Ancient duty, it was. Always a Captain for the ghost ship, always a Davy Jones or Devil-Jonah or Shoney to steer them on their way. Tradition. Ye takes the souls from 'ere to there. Ship's had many captains. Most of 'em have done their duty right enough. The new boy, though… the goddess what told him how he could live forever t'be with her didn't keep up her part o' the deal, so he figgered he didn't have to keep his. So now…" he waved the lantern expressively. "Things got like ye see 'em. He started lettin' them dead souls join 'is crew instead o' movin' on, leavin' behind the ones what wants to stay dead instead o' ferryin' their souls Beyond. He even summoned up the Leviathan an' had it serve him, when it weren't supposed to rise from the depths 'til the end o' days. It's what comes o' lettin' women meddle in nautical affairs." He huffed.

"So Davy Jones isn't his actual name, it's more like a title?" Nina asked uncertainly. "Like the Dread Pirate Roberts?"

"One o' his titles. Just like the ship—ye were callin' it the Flyin' Dutchman, but that's only its newest name. There was a Flyin' Dutchman a bit more'n a century back, sank off the Iv'ry Coast. Folks tend to confuse one ghost ship with another, an' so the name of the Flyin' Dutchman got mixed into the old stories." Wyvern made a motion with his shoulders that probably would have been a shrug if he wasn't mostly fused to the wall.

"You were a crew member before the, um, current Davy Jones took the job, then?" Siren asked him.

"Currant? I like currant jam on me biscuits. Used to like it, rather. Haven't tasted any in ages," he said wistfully. Siren blinked at him.

"Were you here before the 'new boy' signed on?" Sarah translated, smiling slightly.

"Course I was. I'm the last o' the old gang left, these days," he admitted glumly. "Some o' the other folk left, others he killed fer speakin' against 'im. Finally, it was only me left. The rest—all the rest—they're a sorry lot o' scum. Recruitin' men who're 'fraid to go to hell!" He shook his head in disdain. "The right sort, the kind of men ye really want fightin' beside ye… are the ones who know they're bound fer hell and look forward to getting' some warmer weather."

Warmer weather. Abby gave a little involuntary shiver. She didn't belong here. She'd had an occasional sense of that on the pirate ship and at Port Royal, but now it was crashing over her so hard she wanted to crawl out of her own skin. This was a place where the living did not belong… where teenage girls really did not belong… where cowardly people who offered to knit sweaters for fish in exchange for their lives most definitely did not belong. As much as she had enjoyed the Flying Dutchman parts of the movie, right now she really wanted to be back on the surface, anywhere on the surface.

Well, not in the middle of Arctic waters or anything. She'd just freeze and drown and end up right back here again, only permanently. Bloody hell.

These kinds of thoughts preoccupied her for the rest of the lesson and right up until the point when they were told that since there were no provisions on the ghost ship and no way to cook food underwater, their only real menu option was to eat whatever they could catch, raw.

Though Abby had tried sushi before and found it okay but not thrilling, here there was not even any rice or avocado or wasabi to make the raw fish part palatable. The idea of eating anything with tentacles made her queasy and besides, it might offend the Kraken to see her chowing down on its relatives. Though she guessed crab or lobster wouldn't be that bad, the crabs she'd seen so far were tiny, and she didn't think she could actually take on a live lobster and win, not without her sword. Ditto for sea urchins, stingrays, sharks, and eels. Sea cucumbers? Probably not as edible as their landlocked namesakes. Shrimp? Too small to be worth the effort to catch. Oysters? She'd seen a couple among the barnacles on the ship, and oysters were sometimes eaten raw, weren't they? She'd never actually tried them, but people voluntarily ate them raw without wasabi, and unlike fish, there was the possible bonus of finding a pearl inside.

She headed off in search of oysters.


	22. Ch20: In Hot Water

AN: I know, I haven't posted a chapter for ages. I'm sorry. I don't have much of a good excuse other than I guess I just hit a block at some point. But don't worry, I have NOT stopped for good. Here's a new chapter and another should be coming in the next few weeks because I sort of cheated and skipped ahead towards the end of the chapter to material I was going to cover later. So my apologies again for the ridiculously long delay and Merry Christmas/Happy (Belated) Hannukah, and Happy New Year to everyone. Love you all!

DISCLAIMERS: I own myself, an old, beat-up SUV, a golden retriever, several hundred books, and this computer. Everything else has been commandeered from Disney and, possibly, you. In this chapter, the students travel to the very bottom of the ocean with no protective gear and no breaks during the descent, and will later go right back to the surface in the same manner. In real life, I am aware that this would make you very sick, possibly even fatally sick. Also, the information about geothermal fissures is as accurate as my research could make it, but if anyone notices any mistakes, let me know in a review so I can correct myself later.

Oh, and though I have never eaten raw oysters (I mean, they're raw. Yuck!) I have been told that this is how they taste without tabasco sauce to cover up the flavor.

* * *

"Salty snot." Abigail said. "It's like eating gigantic globs of salty snot. _Without pearls inside."_ Everyone had more or less eaten what, for lack of a better word, they called dinner, and slept (or tried to) during the ten hours that passed before they touched bottom.

"Gross. You weren't missing much with the sushi, though. Gutting fish is okay when your hands are underwater and the rest of you isn't, but when your whole body is under the blood and guts just float around you like you're taking a bath in them. No wonder everyone here's so grumpy. They haven't had a decent meal in centuries," Summer commiserated.

"Tonight," Siren announced over the grumbling of the students, "Now that we've touched bottom, the captain has given reluctant permission for Greenbeard, Palafico, and Koleniko to teach a class on deep sea life forms."

"Touched whose bottom?" Kat asked innocently. "Kidding," she added quickly.

"Now," Siren continued, "At the risk of sounding like a kindergarten teacher, I want you to form groups of three. One person in each group gets a lantern and is in charge of keeping track of their two partners. Stay close together. Tierza's still nauseous, so she's staying on the ship and Old Haddy's keeping an eye on her so Becca can come with us. No one else is suffering any aftereffects from our method of arrival, right?"

"I've got some interesting bruises," Koneka offered.

"Bruises are fine. Grab your lanterns and your partners. I see our guest instructors coming over here." The guest instructors turned out to be Palafico, Koleniko, and Greenbeard, to the students' relief. Abby reflected that it would have been quite unpleasant, wandering around in the dark with one of the mates who was openly hostile towards them.

"I never realized how dark it was down here," Becca said thoughtfully as they climbed the ropes down the sides of the boat to the ocean floor. "Or how cold. It is really, really friggen cold."

"Sunlight can't reach down 'ere," Koleniko commented. "Most o' the ocean plants are up higher, in the coral reefs, on account o' needin' light or feedin' on the creatures that do. Here in the deep sea bottoms, there's diff'rent kinds o' life. Funny kinds. Oh, an' it's warmer where we're goin'," he added, glancing at Becca and at Nina, who was shivering and sulking with a tattered piece of cloth she'd found wrapped around her shoulders like a shawl. It didn't seem to be doing much good.

"Undersea vents?" Abby asked eagerly. "I've always wanted to see those."

"What's an undersea vent?" Angel asked confusedly as they followed Koleniko and Palafico, who were not carrying lanterns, and Greenbeard, who was.

"They're also called geothermal fissures or something like that. They're places where heat from the magma under the earth's crust comes up through cracks or vents. They're actually what keeps the ocean from becoming too salty. When water evaporates, it doesn't take the salt with it, so if not for the vents, the ocean would be very slowly but steadily becoming saltier, because not all the water that evaporates from the ocean comes back into it," Siren explained.

"So how do they work?" Holly wanted to know.

"Seawater sinks down into them, vaporizes in the heat, and comes shooting back up as steam, leaving the salt behind. So when the steam hits the cold water, it condenses into fresh water rather than saltwater."

"So the life by the vents is more like the life in freshwater?" Summer asked.

"Not even remotely. It's almost like life from another planet. Because the vents don't just emit steam, they also emit hydrogen sulfide gas, which is very poisonous to creatures like us."

"Ah. So the smart thing to do is to go over to the vents and get poisoned?" Grace suggested sarcastically.

"Well, you're not going to be inhaling it, because you aren't using your lungs down here. You have gills. You should be fine if you're not right on top of it, which you shouldn't be anyway since it gets to about 150 degrees right around the vents. However you're absolutely forbidden to eat anything you see in that area, not that I imagine much of it will be appetizing other than maybe the giant clams."

"So giant clams and unappetizing alien things can live there because of the warmth?" Cate asked uncertainly.

"They can live there because of the bacteria that eat the hydrogen sulfide," Siren corrected her. "The bacteria gets eaten by larger things, which get eaten by larger things, and so on. The warmth is just a side benefit, really."

"It's gotten a teensy bit warmer I think, but I don't see any light other than the ones we're carrying," Linsey said.

"You're not going to, either. The vents don't give light. That's why we brought lanterns," Greenbeard told her.

"But what about the magma?"

"It's way, way down lower," Abby explained. "Like, the magma's the water heater and the vents themselves are the faucet. When you look up a faucet you don't see the water heater right there looking back at you. It's way down a length of pipes." There was a murmur to the effect of, _oh, okay _ from several of the students.

"It _is _getting warmer," Sarah commented, running a hand over her arm. "My goosebumps are going away."

There was a brief shriek from up ahead and a few cries of alarm as everyone rushed forward to see what was the matter. Kelsey was struggling to her feet and backing away from something large and white that looked like a worm but was the size of an anaconda.

"I stepped on it," she was muttering, looking horrified. "In my bare feet. I stepped on that… thing! Will it attack us?" The question was directed to Greenbeard, who made a sound like a snort and shook his head.

"It's not got teeth, girl. What d'ye expect it'll do, scare ye ta death?"

"What _is_ it?" Becca wanted to know. "Siren? Abby? Undead pirates? Anyone?"

"'T's a big worm," Koleniko told her.

"Well, yeeesss, that much we kind of figured," Koneka said, glancing over at Siren.

"Some sort of tubeworm, I think," Siren elaborated, then shrugged. "What do you want from us, a taxonomic classification?"

"A way to make it go away?" Kelsey suggested, still looking shaky.

"Shoo," Angel told the worm, prodding at it with a stick she'd presumably picked up somewhere on the ship. It stirred slightly on the rough basalt of the ocean floor but didn't seem to consider them worth getting up for.

"Leave the worm alone an' look where ye're headed," Koleniko said mildly. "There'll be jellyfish an' possibly critters with teeth just ahead. I'd worry bout those more than _that."_ He jerked his head at the worm. If they hadn't been miles underwater, Abby might have described his tone of voice as dry.

The water continued growing warmer until it was almost like soaking in a hot tub, and there were sighs of happiness from the students.

"Let's sleep here tonight," Angel suggested, then let out a muffled squeak as something shapeless, dark red, and covered with fins shot through the lantern light and passed inches from her face. "On second thought, the Flying Dutchman is a fine ship," she muttered.

"Check it out," Grace called, holding her lantern close to a barnacled rock that, on a closer inspection, turned out to be a huge clamshell, about two feet in diameter, buried face-down in the sea floor. "It's probably been here for thousands of years. It's practically part of the ground."

"Looks comfy," Holly said and sat down on it. A second later, the shell snapped up, sending dust and bits of barnacle flying up and sending Holly tumbling off with a choked sound of surprise. The giant clam itself was visible in the dim light—a grayish-white mass about the size of a small cat. It snapped its shell open and shut a few times for good measure before settling back into the sea floor.

"Looks like ye got a live one there," Palafico commented. "An' 'e does look right comfy, all nestled into the ground like 'e is. Ah, quit yer whimperin', e's a big 'un but not big enough to eat ya. Worst 'e could do t'ya's snap a bone if y'were foolish enough to stick yer arms or hands into 'is shell."

"How much bigger do they get?" Cate asked shakily. Palafico looked at Greenbeard, who shrugged.

"I've seen 'em grown up to five, six times as big as the one ye just stirred up, but never that big hereabouts. That one there's a pretty normal size. Decent eatin' if ye can prop their shell open with somethin' strong enough to hold it while ye get the critter out."

"Nah, not worth the trouble," Koleniko argued. "Ye get better meat off an eel, and fer less work." His voice suddenly sharpened. "Hey—you with the cropped hair—don't go no further. There's a whole mess o' jellyfish right there, a poisonin' kind." Kat, who had been wandering back towards the cooler borders of the vent area, froze, then took a careful step back.

"Where are they?"

"See how the water's cloudy just ahead and t'yer starboard side? That's jellyfish. Little ones. Getting' stung by 'em won't kill ye, but ye'd be real sick for a while. Stay in the warmer waters an' they won't bother ye. They don't come too close to the vents." Kat nodded shakily and went back to her group.

They walked around the vents some more, finding some odd kinds of anemone, more tube worms, mussels, and a bunch of tiny crabs that skittered from rock to rock hunting some organism too small to see clearly. Everything down here was blind, though strangely, some of the anemone were shown by the lanterns' glow to be bright reds and oranges, as if in defiance of their lightless world.

When they finally—reluctantly—returned to the cold water and the Flying Dutchman, they were allowed a few hours free. Abby used hers to curl up in a ball in a corner of the brig and doze, trying to keep a little of the warmth from the trip to the vents inside her. She was woken by Sarah's foot nudging her.

"Hey, wake up! The Captain's going to let us see the organ!"

"Ghnmm. Jack?" Abby muttered hopefully, still half-asleep.

"No, Davy Jones!" In an instant everything rushed back to her, and she sat up.

"Oh. Right. Flying Dutchman." Abby scrambled to her feet and followed Sarah through several hatches to what looked like a dead-end hallway. Davy Jones was standing with his back to the wall and scowling at the crowd of snickering teenaged girls around him.

"I dinna ken what ye think is so funny!" he snarled, tentacles lashing around his face in exasperation. "I only said ye best na' be thinkin' o' touchin' me organ!" There were a few muffled back giggles before Siren elbowed them into silence.

"Yes, Captain."

"'S a valuable inst'r'ment." There was a quiet choking sound from one of the students.

"Yes, Captain."

"Verra well. Out o' me way." Jones reached up and lightly used the tip of his tentacle arm to trace the shape of a rectangle on the ceiling. As he did so, a tightly-sealed hatch appeared, the seams shimmering into view as the tentacle traced over them. Then the tentacle reached _through _the panel, hooked around something, and yanked the panel down, sending a latter clattering down as well. Looking up into it, it appeared to be a dark, narrow tunnel with four walls leading up into darkness.

"Well? Oop!" He urged them, gesturing towards the ladder. Nina timidly started up, and as Abby stepped forward and followed, there was a strange, sloshing noise and a muffled exclamation. She hurried up, and had climbed about eight steps when suddenly, shockingly, her head broke the surface of the water. The air smelled strongly of tar and dust, and slightly of mold. She reached up, found the edges of the tunnel where the hatch met the planks of the room above, and pulled herself up, shivering and dripping with salt water. Becca, who climbed up after her, had had the presence of mind to bring a lantern, and more people crowded in after her, whispering and looking around in the suddenly even eerier light of the luminous jellyfish swimming inside the still water-filled lantern. The second-to-last person up was Siren, and by the time the Captain had awkwardly pulled himself up the hatch, refusing the bravely offered hands up from some of the students, she was across the room and exclaiming over a pile of what looked like booklets in one corner.

"_That's_ where they went! I thought I'd missed them somewhere in the Black Pearl's hold! How'd they get in here? I knew I should have given Tia Dalma the rum _after_ she did the magic thingy to transfer the books through time." She reached out as if to pick them up, then pulled her wet hands back, tried to wipe them off on her soaking wet clothing, and cursed.

"That rubbish is yers? Showed oop in here near ta four months ago," Jones told her.

"We'll take it with us when we leave only… is there any cloth up here that we can dry off with at least enough to be able to touch the books?" Siren pleaded. Jones nodded and handed her a couple yards of folded, moth-chewed velvet, then as the students wiped their hands, he used a handkerchief to dry his tentacles so he could touch the precious organ, idly playing a quick scale.

"Did you learn to play before or after you became the captain of the Dutchman?" Kelsey asked.

"Before… took damn' near a cent'ry findin' a way to keep ane dry underwater," Jones admitted. "Thought I'd never play 'agin when I lost me fingers, but then I found oot that tentacles 're handier fer it. More of 'em, see."

"Will you play for us?" Holly asked hopefully.

"Play fer ye? Ye're mad. I've better things t'do with me time," he said dismissively. "Now ye've seen it, so git oot."

"But please, the books are up here, sir," Siren said, looking up at him with puppy eyes. "If we're very careful, and don't touch anything but the books, can we stay up here long enough to read through them?" Jones cast a suspicious eye over her and then each student in turn.

"Ye'll na start foolin' with me organ? Ye give yer oath?"

"We will restrain ourselves to admiring it from a distance," said Siren, keeping a straight face as several students were struck by sudden fits of coughing. They all got another dark look as the captain tried to figure out what had gotten into them, and then shook his head.

"Verra well. Reckon the crew'll be grateful ta have some quiet," he relented, and stumped down the ladder, replacing the panel of the hatch behind him, leaving them to their unexpected new lesson.


	23. Ch21: The Field Guide to POTC Sues

AN: Okay, I lied. I'm posting again right now because I don't want to have to list all the information of the field guide in the next chapter- it would be awkward and take up too much space. So herein are listed the species, characteristics, and weaknesses of each kind of MarySue native to the POTC world. If anyone catches a species that I've missed (that has occured in the writing of at least two separate authors that you can reference- if it's only happened once, it's a mutation, not a subspecies), let me know.

Again, Merry Christmas etc.

-Siren

**The Field Guide to POTC Sues**

**

* * *

  
**

*Generic!Sue _(marisuis marisuis)_: Any Sue without the distinguishing features to be placed in any of the previous categories.

*CaptainsDaughter!Sue _(marisuis capitanus filia)_: She is the daughter of a feared pirate captain (any feared pirate captain will do- just invent one!) who grew up at sea with him and inherited the ship when he died. She is between the ages of 16 and 19, and is the youngest female pirate ever. Her hair is long, flowing, and soooo shiny. She tends to lose her ship (wreck, mutiny, capture by navy, etc.) and needs someone's help to get it back.

Her weaknesses are her ship, which is almost always destroyed at some point during the story, and the one member of her crew who always has it in for her and obsessively plots against her because he can recognize a Sue when he sees one.

*Runaway-noblewoman-turned-pirate-captain!Sue _(marisuis capitanus nobilis)_: She is a noblewoman who ran away from home to become a pirate because she felt oppressed by her parents expecting her to be a demure, ladylike young girl and/or she was going to be married off to a man she didn't love. She disguised herself as a man and was such a good pirate that even when the other pirates found out she was a woman, they let her stay part of the crew and eventually made her their captain. She has mad skillz with swords, guns, and daggers and is better than men who have trained with such weapons all their lives despite the fact that she's never older than 26 or 27 at the most. She is feared throughout the sea, despite the fact that she's only been a captain herself for a couple years. People from her past have a habit of catching up to her and recognizing her while Jack is around. Often the plot is based on her avoiding capture or vengeance by them.

Her weaknesses are corsets, arranged marriages, and anyone who knew her in her former life.

*RandomPirateCaptain!Sue _(marisuis capitanus inexplicabilis)_: She became a pirate and then somehow got her own ship and crew. Her past is vague and disjointed, and her ship has a cool name and looks kind of like the Black Pearl. No one knows why she is captain. No one knows why she went to sea in the first place, she just wanted to. Because she did. She has the ability to warp any plot into total incomprehensibility. She can be distinguished from the_ nobilis_ by the fact that the ridiculous name she goes by is her real name, not an alias, she never disguises herself, she speaks in modern slang, and she often brings along her friends, who also wanted to be in the story. She has a couple crew members, but none of them ever do anything but talk and hang out. The ship sails itself, and is made up of only a deck, a galley, a crows nest, and the captain's cabin.

Her weaknesses are punctuation, spelling, and any questions about her past.

*SuperPirate!Sue _(marisuis perfectus impossibilis)_: She is the best pirate ever. She is beautiful and everyone is awed and stunned by her. She makes heads turn just by walking by. She has a reputation as a queen or goddess of the sea. She can out-pirate anyone effortlessly. And she's really really beautiful, she looks like an angel, did I mention that? Sometimes she has an animal companion or familiar who defends her and understands her psychically. She is ageless and can sail a ship solely by standing at the steering wheel and looking gorgeous with the setting sun in the background and the wind in her hair. Her clothing and appearance take up most of the first chapter and are re-described every time she meets anyone, because they "can't help noticing" how inhumanly beautiful she is. She has no flaws and no issues, and is defiant and witty towards everyone in any situation. She can sustain tons of damage- much like a video game character who fights right up until it has zero health points left- and still perform great feats of piracy. She often has a tattoo or several tattoos.

Her weaknesses are reality and plausibility.

*Magic!Sue _(marisuis hocus pocus)_ Not only is she fiercely independent and hauntingly beautiful, she has magical powers. She can read minds, have premonitions of the future, see into mens souls, control the winds, divine the history of objects, heal, shapeshift, summon sea creatures, speak the language of birds, or do something so totally outrageous (i.e. instant teleportation anywhere, bringing back the dead, brainwashing people to be her loyal zombie slaves) that it leads one to question what the author has been inhaling. Regardless of plausibility, she uses her powers to help Jack/ Barbossa/Davy Jones and wins their respect, admiration, and love by commiting feats of superhuman spiffiness. She often has a vague but supposedly significant destiny that unseen forces are guiding her towards. This destiny doesn't generally get fleshed out, but is good for the occasional occult, suspenseful moment. Often the technical terms for the abilities she has are mixed up or incorrectly used.

Her weakness is collapsing and fainting, because using her powers requires so much exertion and strength that whenever she does something major she nearly dies and needs to be nursed back to health.

*Kidnapped!Sue _(marisuis captivus abductivus)_: She has been kidnapped by pirates!! Why? Well, why not? Pirates just do things like that! She is held prisoner on their ship, where she wins their respect and captures their interest with her fiesty, rebellious personality. She wears gorgeous clothes half the time, because every pirate ship has a wardrobe of ballgowns in_ exactly_ her size. She does not trust the captain because he is intent on seducing her. Occasionally, she jumps out of the ship to escape and is nearly drowned by the weight of her clothing, and has to be rescued by Jack. She is also a total lightweight and gets drunk easily.

Her weaknesses are water and rum.

*Anti-Pirate!Sue _(marisuis captivus antipiratus)_: Similar to Kidnapped!Sue, only she hates pirates bitterly because they killed her parents, tried to rape her, someone she loved left her to become a pirate, or anything else even remotely imaginable. When she becomes their captive and is forced to stay in the captain's cabin (no one knows why), she hates them but is nevertheless lured into friendship, then love. She's often an Angst!Sue as well.

Her weakness is her overwhelming sexual attraction to the hated pirates.

*Angst!Sue _(marisuis miserabilis melodramaticus)_: This girl is a mess. She's been abused, tortured, kidnapped, raped, persecuted, repressed, and is usually on the point of committing suicide. She hates herself and is dramatically withdrawn and bitter to everyone around her. She has flashbacks all the time. She is constantly fainting or being rendered unconscious in order to have more flashbacks. No matter where she goes, someone wants to hurt her. She needs to be rehabilitated by some gentle, patient, understanding man who can help her face and overcome the demons of her past. Oh, and she gets injured at the slightest opportunity.

Her weaknesses? Just about everything.

*Badass!Sue _(marisuis gluteus malus)_: Wild, insane, bitchy, daring, violent, and aggressive even when unprovoked. She has a score to settle with the world. She's covered with scars and tattoos. She drinks and swears constantly. She'll kill a man and then lick his blood off her dagger. She is just THAT hardcore. Will anyone make it past her poison-thorned exterior to discover the vulnerable, loving, but still fairly bitchy and unappealing woman underneath? Of course they will, but she'll just be more angry at them the more she finds herself caring. And the constant unprovoked rage at the world gets a bit monotonous after a while.

Her weakness is the lack of spiked wristbands and heavy metal music in the 18th century.

*Jack!Sue _(marisuis jaksparrowus duplicatus)_: Basically, a female version of Jack. She is a pirate or pirate captain who dresses like him, talks like him, lines her eyes with kohl, and loves rum. Usually brunette, and often does her hair the same way he does his. Her ship looks like the Black Pearl. The sea is her first and "only" love, and she is always as good a pirate as Jack is or better. He has met his match in her, or should I say, met his clone. It is always Jack who pursues her as she avoids romantic attatchments at all cost for two to five chapters. Then they give in to their lust for each other and have hot pirate sex and wake up the next morning madly in love. Which makes both of them panic in the exact same way, because after all, they're the same person.

Her weaknesses are Jack and her hat, both of which she will risk many painful deaths to rescue.

*SwannSister!Sue (_marisuis sororis_) She's Elizabeth's sister, either older orR younger, though the age difference between them is usually about two to three years and she's usually a bit thinner and plainer. Surgically inserted into the script, beginning with the first movie, she tags along, being brave, loyal, and falling in love with one of the male leads who is, of course, in love with her sister. When Elizabeth rejects or alienates the object of Sister!Sue's affection, she snatches him up and makes him fall in love with her instead—acting the way the writer thought Elizabeth ought to have acted in the first place—and everyone lives happily ever after.

Her weakness is the fact that her creator couldn't just be honest with herself and write an AU fic where Elizabeth made the aforementioned "choice she should have made." The SwannSister!Sue is doomed to always be second best.

*Amnesiac!Sue _(marisuis sine memoriam)_: All she knows is that she was found drifting unconscious in the aftermath of a shipwreck and is carrying or wearing something that is terribly significant, but she can't remember why it is. She doesn't even remember who she is, only her first name or a nickname. She has various surprising skills but does not know where she got them, of course. She stares at the sea a lot, wondering who she was in her former life.

Her weakness is the fact that even the author hasn't entirely decided on what happened and why yet, so all they can do is drop vague clues hinting that there is some great mystery going on and wait for one of their reviewers to come up with a good guess.


	24. Ch22: Angst and Why Villains Should Date

AN: Another unexpectedly early chapter, because I've written about the subject of Sues before and I had a lot of previous rants to draw on, plus I've been wanting to go into the historically accurate angst thing for a while. So! An unexpected Christmas present for you guys. Enjoy :)

DISCLAIMER: I don't own any pirates. I mean, I live in the Sonoran desert, where would I keep them? In a kiddie pool?

* * *

"Right, so everyone read through the Field Guide yesterday, right?"

"Right," chorused the students, who were slumped in an aching, exhausted huddle in the brig after a torturous "fighting lesson" that had seemed to consist mainly of the crew of the Flying Dutchman beating the tar out of them.

"First of all, any questions?" Siren asked. Angel slowly raised a hand.

"Am… am I a Sue? The descriptions of the Kidnapped!Sue, I mean… I don't wear dresses or jump off ships in the middle of the ocean, but I _was_ kidnapped, and I don't know why. And, well, the Angst!Sue too…" She bit her lip, her normally challenging expression becoming a bit unsure.

"Mmm. I have an answer, but let's see what your classmates think, first," Siren suggested. "Anybody?"

"Well, it's not your personality so much as your history," Grace volunteered. "The kidnapped for no apparent reason and then abused and starved for several years? It's a little over-dramatic."

"But you're not beautiful," Kat said, then looked flustered. "That came out wrong. I don't mean you're ugly or anything, you're decent looking, but with a Sue, everyone who looks at her immediately notices how beautiful she is or how haunted her eyes are. That's not really the first impression you give people."

"That's good, I guess," Angel said uncertainly.

"There's hope for you," Siren agreed. "Honestly, the story of your life could use some work, particularly the kidnapping bit—they'd have made _far_ more profit by selling you as a slave than by keeping you on their ship. And you could still have found some way to get rescued by Jack if they had sold you, because Jack has a history of helping slaves escape. Oh, and 'Angel' wasn't used as a name in the 18th century, either. It ought to be short for Angeline or something."

"All right, I'll… work on that," Angel agreed, looking slightly amused by the summary. "I like the part about still getting rescued by Jack."

"It's not the ideal plot device, but just because it's used in a lot of clichés doesn't mean it can't be done right," Siren told her. "That's the unfortunate thing about Sues—there are no hard and fast rules. There's just… it's like lemonade. The water's the real-life, everyday stuff, the lemon juice is the drama and angst, and the sugar's the cheesy romance and unrealistic parts. Too much water makes it tasteless, too much sugar makes it disgusting, and too much lemon makes it unpleasant to drink for most people. You have to find your balance."

Summer sighed. "I want lemonade."

"Me too," echoed about six people at once.

"Remember the Starbucks coffee?" Tierza asked wistfully. She had been pronounced well enough to get out of bed a few hours ago and, aside from a still aching head, seemed to be back to her normal self.

"Don't talk to me about coffee," was Abby's dark reply.

"Back to the subject," Siren interrupted their caffeine fantasies, "Let's talk about how not to make your character into a Mary Sue. Again, I'll let you guys start…" she trailed off and waited for someone to speak.

"Don't make her ridiculously beautiful," Summer said at once.

"It's a good general rule for beginning writers, but there _are_ ways to write a beautiful character who isn't a Mary Sue," Siren said mildly.

"If she is beautiful," Koneka suggested after a moment's thought, "She shouldn't be so ridiculously modest that she's unaware of her good looks."

"Yeah, if she's got it, she should use it," Holly put in. "Especially if she's a pirate. A pirate uses whatever resources they've got to get what they want. Not that she should prostitute herself or anything, but I bet she'd be good at flirting and at playing dumb to make people underestimate her."

"Or the beauty could make up for her having other problems," Kat suggested. "Maybe she's a really messed-up person underneath it—like, not in a tragically alluring way but in a disturbing, unattractive way."

"Ooh, that's a good one," Siren said with a slight smile. "Actually, all of them were good. You're learning to think like rational adults rather than fangirls. I'm proud of you. What's another good way to keep your character from becoming a Mary Sue?"

"Don't make her a pirate captain at age 16," Becca suggested. "I mean, think about it, Jack admitted himself that anything under _30_ was really young for a pirate captain. And that's young for a guy. Do you really think a teenaged girl or even a young woman in her twenties would be taken seriously?"

"But if she grew up on the ship--" Linsey started to say, but Nina interrupted.

_"Especially_ if she grew up on the ship and they'd watched her grow up. Ever noticed how people who've known you since you were a little kid have a hard time getting used to the fact that you're not one anymore? Sure, she'd be like a favorite little sister or niece to them, and they'd be proud of her, but they'd be so used to ordering _her_ around that the idea she was going to be in command of them would be ridiculous."

"Yes, can you just imagine?" Sarah agreed. "They'd be all, 'You, a captain? I was haulin' lines and chartin' courses when you were just a little thing running around the deck in diapers, missy! Go to the galley and bake us some scones, there's a good girl.'"

"I guess," Linsey conceded reluctantly.

"Though that's not to say she couldn't have a decent place in the ship's crew," Siren pointed out. "A place earned by skill rather than seniority, like the ship's carpenter or surgeon. She wouldn't be in a position of command, plus, since she would probably have served her apprenticeship on that same ship under an older crew member, they'd know she'd been taught properly and that she knew what she was doing."

"And she could still be part of the fighting and drinking and storytelling," Kelsey mused. "She'd almost be _closer_ to the crew that way than she would be as a captain."

"I have another one," Tierza suddenly broke in. "Based on my recent experience as a convalescent. If your character gets sick or injured, don't try to make them attractive in that state. Sick people sweat and puke and whine and make disgusting noises. They don't lie quietly on rose-scented sheets and look delicate and childlike."

"Good one," Abby said.

"I've also noticed that Sues _never_ have any kind of injury that will leave them looking less beautiful," Siren added. "Despite being pirates, they never lose a leg or a hand or an eye or even a finger. And they always recover completely. They never walk with a limp or lose the strength in the injured arm or anything like that. In fact, the only Sues who seem to get scars that _don't _bring out their beauty even more are Angst!Sues, whose scars are remnants of their troubled past."

"How do we know how much angst is too much?" Grace wanted to know. "Because a lot of the people in this time did lead pretty crummy lives. I mean, some of the stories Scarlett and Giselle told us were full of people dying, being orphaned, abandoned, abused…"

"This is true," Siren admitted, "But like you say, a lot of people in this time lead crummy lives. It doesn't make them any more of a victim than anyone else. In our time, with all our law enforcement, women's rights, and activist groups, statistics still estimate that one in every three females is a victim of sexual assault. But in the 18th century? Most rape isn't even punishable by law. If a man rapes his wife, that's legal, because it's considered her marital duty to put out whether she feels like it or not. If a man rapes a prostitute and she goes to the authorities, she'll be charged with prostitution, sent to jail, and told that she deserved it for living such an immoral life. And I won't even go into how little attention is paid to the treatment of children by their parents and guardians," Siren said bluntly. "And it's perfectly legal for a man to beat his wife as long as he's doing it with a switch or his fists. The same rule applies to a mother or father beating a child, because that's just another way to discipline a kid. The culture we grew up in taught us that all these things are abominable and will follow a person around for the rest of their life. But no one here thinks of it that way. People in the 18th century are not big on psychoanalysis or tracing their issues back to stuff that happened to them as a child."

"And," she added, holding up a finger, "I have quite a few friends who were abused or molested, and _they_ don't hate men or declare that they'll never marry because they'll never trust anyone again. In fact, the only person I've ever heard make that particular claim was bipolar, slightly drunk, and in the middle of a bad breakup, and even _she_ took it back a week later.

"This is going a bit off track, but while we're talking about angst and trauma, I'd like to say something about flashbacks. A person who has flashbacks has them because they have had an intensely traumatic experience in their past, such as witnessing the murder or violent death of someone who they knew, an intensely life-threatening situation that has lingering emotional impact, rape, murder, torture, or having done something that drives them to a state of obsessive pathological guilt. _And_ not everyone who has experienced one of these things necessarily has flashbacks. It's not really that common even among trauma victims. Writers have been successfully _not _using flashbacks for centuries. It's become popular because movie makers use it."

"So is that another Sue thing? That we should avoid flashbacks?" Koneka asked.

"Wellll… If your character has been really deeply traumatized, it's not inconcievable that they could have a flashback to that trauma, but try not to play that card unless you have to. Memories can be vivid and people can get lost in memories for a few moments, which basically serves the same purpose. What _is_ a Sue thing is passing out and having a flashback. There are only two states in which your brain can access memories, when you're awake, and when you're in REM sleep, which is the state you're in when you dream. When you lose consciousness, you do not go into REM sleep. So no dreams and no flashbacks. If you pass out, the time between losing consciousness and waking up is a big blank."

"This is true," confirmed Tierza, running a hand over the lump on her head and wincing slightly.

"So, tell me more stuff you should avoid if you don't want to make a Sue," Siren prompted.

"Don't give her a magical pet." This came from Nina.

"Or a pet that really wouldn't be practical to take on board a ship, like a wolf or a tiger or something," Becca added.

"With any large animal, there'd have to be someone following it around to clean up the droppings," Sarah practically pointed out, winning a chorus of "eewww"s from her classmates. "I mean, I don't think you could teach a wolf to use the head."

"Some sailors don't even bother to use the head. They just piss into the bilges." Angel's comment sparked another chorus of "eeww"s.

"No, I really think

"Don't give her a name that didn't exist in her time period," Cate offered, then held her hand up to her face to get a close look at the fingers. "Uh-oh, I think I'm starting to rust."

"Yeah," Abby agreed, thinking of the sailor on the dauntless who was named Kimberly. "And don't give them names that were only used as guys' names back then, like Kimberly, Jordan, Aubrey, Kerry, Tracy, Ashley, Morgan…"

"Lindsey and Kelsey are also men's names in this time," Siren pointed out with a slight smirk. "Oh, and another thing that bugs me. People with names that match their eyes. People are named when they're babies, and everyone's eye color changes as they get older. This is why you don't see people with violet, emerald, sapphire, jade, and amber eyes who are _named _Violet, Emerald, Sapphire, Jade, and Amber."

"No, really, guys. I think this is rust," Cate persisted, holding out her hands. "Doesn't this look like rust to you?"

Everyone leaned in or turned around to see.

"I guess it could be some kind of barnacle we don't know about, but it does look like rust," Holly said after a close look.

"Then I guess it's a good thing our swords were left on the ships," Summer said with a resigned sigh. "They'd be rusting too if we'd brought them with us."

"Just say it's a new fashion trend," Becca told Cate, then said, "What?" when everyone gave her odd looks.

"Okay, okay, back to the subject now," Siren ordered. "Before we go back up to the deck and catch ourselves a lovely, raw, squirming dinner, I want to go over one particular Sue trait that's not mentioned in the field guide. Sues warp the characters around them. They get rid of anyone who's in their way by turning them one-dimensional, selfish, or evil. Characters who fall in love with Sues throw away all their former ambitions and attatchments in order to win the Sue's heart and live happily ever after. Every other good character immediately likes, trusts, and respects her, and every bad character makes pithy villain speeches about how unfortunately headstrong and spirited she is."

"Why do villains always make those villain speeches anyway?" Nina wanted to know.

"Because it sucks to have a diabolical plan and no one to gloat about it to, but since villains are too greedy and backstabbing to work together well, they have no one to share it with but their victims," Siren decided. "This is why villains should have significant others. It'd keep them from spilling all the relevant information to or falling in love with the good guys. And on that note, I think we can say this lesson is complete.


	25. Ch23: Cephalopods & Unfortunate Bananas

DISCLAIMER: That's not mine, that's not mine, that's not mine either... you know the drill.

AN: All the sailors superstitions below are real. And those are just a sampling of them. I could write three more chapters and still not cover them all... sailors are seriously weird people.

It was a couple hours after dinner, which Abby decided to sleep through rather than eat the blind, twitching eels that Koleniko and Jelly were teaching everyone how to catch and butcher. As she reckoned it, they had about forty hours or so left, less than two days. She could go without food for two days, or at least she figured she probably could. There had been that time in tenth grade when she'd gone to the lake for a week with a friend's family, who were some kind of fanatic organic vegans and ate mostly tofu and sprouts. She'd survived for five days on two apples, a handful of carrot sticks, and three of those tiny cheese-and-crackers packets, which she was given by a sympathetic stranger. If she could do that…

Her stomach didn't seem to be in favor of this plan, however. It later occurred to her that unlike tenth grade (during which her chief physical activities had been walking through the mall with her friends and playing ping pong), over the last few months her body had become used to fighting, hauling lines, hard work, and generous helpings of breaded, fried fish and hardtack several times a day. In any case, what it boiled down to was that she didn't get any sleep. She had given up on the whole nap idea and was staring out into the darkness beyond the ship, trying to figure out if the motion that she'd just seen was the kraken or just her imagination, when she felt rather than heard someone come up beside her. She glanced over to see the spined crewman that she was fairly sure went by the name Urchin. She swallowed, attempted a smile, and said,

"Let me know if I'm in the way of anything. Or if I'm being too female and you need me to go belowdecks so I don't cause bad luck. Or, uh, whatever." She shifted uneasily. A lot of her classmates had seemed to take the eerie, inhuman crew members more or less in stride after they'd been introduced and talked to them a little, but she still felt like they could look right through her and see what a complete wanna-be she was.

"No point in worryin' about that now," Urchin said matter of factly. "Not with thirteen women already on board, an' three of them redheads. Might as well've brought flowers an' rabbits." There was the slightest hint of some sort of accent in his voice that Abby couldn't quite place.

"What? _Flowers and rabbits?_ Why?" Abby was totally baffled by that one.

"Bad luck."

"Flowers and rabbits? are bad luck?" she asked for confirmation, forehead wrinkled.

"Aye. 'Specially the rabbits. Powerful ill-fated. Even worse than Mister Dennis."

"Who's Mister Dennis?" Abby was completely lost.

"Ah, ye know. Mister Dennis, Master Hog. The pee-aye-gee."

"What pig?" Urchin winced at her use of the word, then shrugged apologetically.

"Any one. Bad luck to speak of. It goes ill for the catch if someone talks 'bout 'em."

"And… you have one named Mister Dennis," Abby said slowly, trying to get this straight.

"Underwater? Are ye daft? That's just what ye _call_ them."

"Why?"

"Dunno. 'Cause it's safer that way, I guess."

"Yes, but how do you get from 'pig' to 'Mister Dennis?'" she persisted.

"Dunno."

So she gave up on that line of questioning, but later, after a grammar rant—er, a very enthusiastic grammar _lecture_—from Siren, she recounted the conversation, to everyone's considerable amusement.

"We should have named the sponge Mister Dennis," Sarah decided.

"Ironic how he's missing out on the underwater portion of the experience," commented Summer. "He's probably still back on the Dauntless."

"Superstitions," Siren mused. "You know, I'd planned on a lesson about those at some point, but what better time than now? _The Flying Dutchman_ is nearly a superstition itself. Maybe we could… hmm, let me go talk to the Captain."

"Better not," Holly warned her. "He's carving something into the old table in what used to be the mess hall and he got pretty hostile when I came in to ask him a question earlier."

"I guess I'll try Maccus, then." Siren strode out of the room and returned about fifteen minutes later to herd them out of the room.

"Okay, all hands on deck, people. I've convinced everyone except Piper, Manray, Jimmylegs, and the Captain—oh, and Crash and Quittance, but they don't talk anyhow, so yeah—to teach an impromptu class on sailors' superstitions. This should be interesting."

"They din't even know about Mister Dennis," Urchin was telling Morey, who shook his head disbelievingly as the students found places to sit on the deck facing the crew.

"Right lot o' landsmen," Wheelback said scornfully.

"Landswomen?" Grace suggested. "Or landslasses. No, that sounds too much like windlasses."

"I forgot what a windlass is again," Cate admitted quietly. Siren tried to clap her hands to get everyone's attention, but the sound was almost completely muffled underwater, so it more made her look silly than anything else. Finally, the Kraken quieted everyone by swimming up to the ship and looking at them with an uncomfortably enormous eye, which made even the crew of the _Dutchman_ back away a little, though Becca gathered the courage a few moments later to run up to it and wave.

"Where did ye want us to start?" Maccus asked the group in general.

"Let's start at the very beginning; a very good place to start," Linsey sang, then was quieted by other people's elbows in her ribs and looked contrite.

"The beginning would be when a ship is built and christened, right?" Tierza asked.

"Stolen wood," Ratlin said immediately. "Good luck to build a ship at least partly from stolen wood. Not just pirate ships, all ships. Makes 'em sail faster."

"And the christening of it, if the bottle don't break, that's an ill omen," Bootstrap said, scratching a barnacle on his ear.

"Are there any rules about naming ships?" Nina asked.

"Ye mustn't use names that end with 'A'," Angler told her.

"But plenty of ships have names ending in 'A,' Linsey argued. "Like… I don't know. The Lusitania, the HMS Victoria, the… the Andrea Doria." There was a momentary pause.

"All three of those ships were _wrecked_, Linsey," Holly pointed out. The crew around them nodded as if that were only to be expected.

"And never, ever change the name of a ship," Greenbeard cautioned them. "She don't like that."

"Why is it always 'she'?" Sarah asked, to everyone's surprise. "Because of the figurehead?"

"But figureheads can be animals and all sorts of other stuff," Angel pointed out.

"Ships're always female. Just how it is," the twin who Abby thought was called Baltasar responded succinctly.

"Yes, but why?" The crew thought over this one for about a minute, murmurring amongst themselves.

"I reckon…" Broondjongen said, scratching his chin. "I reckon it's 'cause… men go inside 'em?" That got a few snickers.

"But women go inside ships t-" Too late, Abby realized what she was saying and bit her tongue as the crew's leers became overt.

"That they do, that they do," Clanker murmurred.

"I knew a girl in Guangzhou once…" Hadras reminisced happily.

"Okay, I think we get it," Siren cut them off.

"Could be 'cause she carries us all in 'er belly," Ogilvey unexpectedly offered a PG-rated solution that was met with murmurs of agreement from the others.

"Aye, like a mother," Wheelback agreed. "That'd likely be it."

"Only ye can curse at 'er wi'out gettin' a hidin'," Penrod added.

"Though not the keel!"

"O' course not the keel. Ye never curse the keel!"

"Why not?" Becca wanted to know.

"Because… because it's the _keel!"_ Finnegan turned to give the students an exasperated look. "The keel!"

"Yes?" Cate prompted him.

"Bloody 'ell, this is why it's so much trouble to try an' educate women. Y' asks questions that ain't got no answers to 'em. Look, girlie, it's just the _way things are_. Ye don't steal from a church, ye don't fight on board a ship, ye don't curse the keel! It's… a center! It runs through the ship like a backbone, holds the rest of it steady!"

"You just made a very good argument that women _should_ be educated, I'd say," Siren told him. "We asked a question that you didn't think had an answer, and because we did, you learned something you didn't know you knew."

"I—ye--- it—" Finnegan scowled at them, trapped by his own words. "Never said women shouldn't be educated," he muttered. "Just said it was a damned nuisance doin' it."

"But ye're right about the keel," Palafico put in. "She's the backbone o' the ship. 'S why ye can't change the plans fer the ship after the keel is laid."

"With a gold coin in it for luck," Jelly said.

"Aye, and that."

"There's a gold coin in the keel?" Angel asked, looking down at the deck beneath her with a look of speculation. "Where?"

"Not a soul knows but the builder," Urchin said, to her visible disappointment. "An' that's why," he added ruefully. "Any pirate worth 'is salt'd have it out in a second if it didn't mean tearin' up 'is own ship lookin'."

"Did we tell them about Fridays?" Chris asked his twin.

"Don't think so. Fridays are bad," Baltasar told the students. "There. Now we did."

"Nuh-uh," Kat objected. "I have to disagree with you on that one. Fridays are good."

"Aye, they are, to be sure, as long as ye don't lay the keel or christen the ship or set sail on one of 'em," Bootstrap told her. "Bad luck. Not sure why. Somethin' to do with Christ, I think."

"Was killed on one," Clanker contributed.

"What, you were killed on a Friday, or Jesus was?" Kelsey asked. Clanker thought for a moment.

"Both."

"That one ain't a myth, though," Ratlin said matter-of-factly. "English Navy went an' proved it. Thought it was ignorant nonsense an' reckoned they'd show us fool sailors it was just talk. So they build this ship, ye hear? Lay the keel on Friday. Christen the ship on a Friday. They even _name_ the bloody ship the _Friday._ An' it sets off fer its maiden voyage on a calm, sunny Friday mornin', as fine sailin' weather as ever ye've seen…" He paused for effect. "… An' not a soul ever sees it again."

"Cool_,"_ Summer said with a wide smile.

"So is there anything else that's bad luck when you're starting a voyage?" Siren asked.

"Don't throw a stone over the ship, avoid folk with red hair the day ye're setting off, or at least speak to any redheads ye do meet afore they can speak to you. And step onto the ship right foot first," Angler said. "Never take the first step onto the ship with yer left foot. Or, worse, sneeze to the left as ye're boardin'."

"Never sneeze to the left while stepping onto a ship left foot first." Koneka repeated. "That's awfully specific. I mean, how often does that happen?"

"Whenever someone with two left feet gets a cold?" Grace suggested.

"Hey, I just realized, this is Things You Should Not Be Doing on A Pirate Ship, Part Two!" Holly exclaimed, looking gleeful.

"Not even gotten to that bit yet." Old Haddy glanced at Siren. "That what we're tellin' em next?"

"Yes, please," Siren said over her shoulder as she leaned out dangerously, balanced precariously on the railing. Abby felt reasonably certain this was another Thing One Should Not Do on A Pirate Ship and was about to say so when Siren jumped back down onto the deck.

"Sorry. Trying to figure out if the Kraken's male or female." There was a pause while everyone thought about that.

"Well," Tierza finally said, "That's not very polite. Why don't you just ask it, instead of looking for a…" Another pause. "…clue?"

"How is it supposed to answer me?" Siren asked with an expression of affronted innocence. "It doesn't talk."

"It could raise a tentacle," Linsey suggested.

"And that would mean what?"

"Um… that it heard you?"

A tentacle reached upwards, its tip vanishing into the darkness at the limit of the eerie lantern light.

"It appears that you are onto something," Siren said. "Hey—um, Sir or Madam Kraken… raise another tentacle if you understand what we mean by male and female." There was a pause, and then another tentacle snaked upward. "Great! Now raise another tentacle if you're female." A larger tentacle was raised this time, causing the ship to rock slightly as the motion displaced the water around it. "We have an answer! Thank you, milady," she said to the creature, who began to slowly move away from the ship again.

"Milady?" Cate asked.

"I somehow wouldn't feel right calling a kraken ma'am." Siren shrugged. "Sorry for the distraction. We will now return to your regularly scheduled programming. Things You Should Not Be Doing On a Pirate Ship, Part Two."

"Well, there's turtles," Greenbeard said obligingly. "To kill a turtle without eatin' it is bad luck."

"Or to kill an albatross, whether ye eat it or not. Or a seagull. Some say if ye kill a seagull, ye go blind," Ogilvey elaborated.

"Yeah, well, they say that about a lot of things," Abby said dryly, and pretty much everyone snickered.

"But some animals are good luck,too," Wheelback said over the laughter. "Cats. They're lucky little devils. A cat on a ship means good luck."

"Not on the longer voyages," argued Urchin. "A real long voyage, ye'll need those rats fer yer own eatin'."

"You eat rats?" Becca exclaimed.

"'S meat, ain't it?" Koleniko said. "But if a cat's on board, it stays on board, even if it does mean a less varied diet. Throwin' a cat overboard's as bad as whistling. Storms," he added when the students looked blank. "It brings storms. Not that ye'd throw it into the ocean anyway, if provisions were _that _low."

"That is gross and horrible," Kelsey said, shuddering.

"Nah, tastes fair enough if it comes to that," Jelly told her, misunderstanding her disgust. "Rather clean animals, cats."

"So whistling also brings storms?" Nina wanted to know.

"It calls the wind. The ringing sound off the rim of a glass, as well," Angler told her.

"Another thing that's bad luck," Clanker put in, "Is wearin' the clothes of a dead man during the same voyage that he died."

"And when a man does die on board ship," Penrod added, "Ye need t' bury 'im sewn up in 'is hammock with two cannonballs placed at 'is feet t' keep 'im from followin' the ship."

"And a stitch through his nose so he stay in his shroud," Hadras said.

"What?" Koneka asked, her brow furrowing.

"When you stitch the hammock shut around him," Broondjongen explained, "The last stitch goes through his nose, to keep him in."

"It sounds almost like you're planning to bury someone alive," Grace commented frankly, but Wheelback shook his barnacled head at her.

"Nah, a live man'd know how to tear through the stitches an' get out. Dead men don't think. All they've got is the last thing they knew in life. That's why a dead mate'd follow a ship. 'E wouldn't know any better."

"Well. That's nice and creepy," Summer said quietly.

"If the dead person's not a crew member, does one still worry about them following the ship?" Sarah asked.

"No, but that's worse. If the man wasn't crew, the corpse'll need to be brought back to 'is kin for burial, which means it stays on the ship. A nasty thing, that," Baltasar answered her. "And it's got to be the very first thing as leaves the ship when it does."

"There's the flag, as well," Angler said, obviously somewhere else on his own train of thought. "Blood on the water is bad, but blood on the flag is good. Ye don't hand it through the rungs of a ladder and ye don't mend it on the quarterdeck."

"An' blood spilled on deck'll break the hex if someone wishes ye good luck," Bootstrap said.

"Wait, so it's like the stage? You have to say 'break a leg' instead?" Kat interrupted, her face lighting up a little as she was reminded her of home.

"Breakin' a leg's a bit much," Bootstrap said to her, looking taken aback. "It doesn't take maiming a man, just a drop or two of blood. Bloodyin' their nose'll do well enough."

"No, it's an expression. Saying break a leg. It means good—you-know-what," Kat explained.

_"_Like '_in boca al lupo,'"_ Siren said. "It's an Italian expression that means the same thing. Literally it translates to 'in the mouth of the wolf,' which has about as much to do with luck as 'break a leg' does."

"Don't think there's anythin' in the lore 'bout wolves," Ratlin said, and the crew members looked at each other, thought, and shook their heads.

"There's a bit about lions I 'eard somewhere," Urchin volunteered. "Ye're not supposed to tie an overhand knot in the tail of a live lion…" he trailed off and looked a bit embarrassed as everyone, even the other crew members, stared at him.

"I… agree that that would be a bad idea, but… who… and how…." Linsey said slowly.

"Never 'eard the bit about the lions before," Jelly said, looking unsure. "Who'd need t'be told?"

"Though ye notice even the fangirls ain't askin' why about it," Finnegan said as if pointing out the brighter side of the situation.

"We're curious, not retarded," Kelsey said.

"Means stupid, daft," Angel translated for the sailors, who were looking blank at the unfamiliar word.

"Sorry. Wrong century," Kelsey apologized. "I mean we're daft, not --. I mean, we're _not_ daft... darn it!" Now everyone was laughing.

"So what else brings bad luck?" Cate wanted to know.

"Brown shoes, gray mittens, three seagulls flyin' together… driving a nail into anything on Sunday… oh, and ye can't open things upside-down," Clanker listed. "And bananas are cursed, I've heard tell."

"You're not serious." Tierza gave him a skeptical look, but he nodded.

"A banana is an ill omen." The students exchanged glances, none of them quite able to keep a straight face.

"But… really, what can possibly be ominous about a banana?" Linsey wanted to know. "What, like when it starts turning brown and you have to eat it before it goes bad? Do people slip on the peels?"

"When there's bananas aboard a ship, good men die," Penrod claimed, and was nearly drowned out by the giggles.

"Okay, settle down, people, there is actually an explanation for this one!" Siren stood up in an attempt to be tall enough to get people's attention. "There is a good reason bananas were considered bad luck. Penrod's right, ships that transported bananas had suspiciously high rates of unexplained deaths."

"The bananas killed them," Summer whispered to Abby, whose repressed laughter snorted out her nose in a cloud of tiny air bubbles_. _

"The bananas did _not_ kill them," said Siren, who had heard that. "The banana spiders did. There is a spider native to South America. It's sometimes called the Brazilian Wandering spider, sometimes the Banana Spider, and it is the most venomous spider in the world. They very often end up as inadvertent stowaways among a cargo of bananas because they often live in and around banana plants and they like to crawl into dark, covered places like crates. There are a bunch of different subspecies. Some of them are only about as venomous as a black widow- which means they won't kill a healthy adult- but others are basically death on eight legs. With most highly poisonous animals, the general rule is 'leave them alone and they'll leave you alone,' but not these guys. They're aggressive. They'll just attack. Sometimes they'll do what's called a dry bite, which means they just bite with no venom, but when they do use venom, even a small amount can cause agonizing pain for days."

"That's why, is it?" Greenbeard asked. "Spiders?"

"That's why," Siren confirmed, nodding.

"Funny. 'S bad luck to kill a spider on board ship, y'see."

"P'raps the killin' of it would be balanced out by the not lettin' it make a corpse o' one o' the crew," suggested Chris.

"Can you do that, then? Balance out superstitions so that you can do something unlucky as long as that lets you do something lucky?" Nina asked.

"Nat'rally, aye," Wheelback said. "Because it's bad luck if a woman's aboard, right, but it's good luck if she's pregnant, 'specially if the child's born on the ship."

"So it's unattatched or unmarried women specifically that are the problem," Siren rationalized.

"I did wonder why some of the captains in our history books saw no problems with taking their wives to sea with them," Grace said. "That would make sense, then. Only if young, unmarried women are bad luck at sea, why are so many figureheads given the faces and bodies of young women?"

"Yes, but figureheads are _naked_ women," Broondjongen told her patiently. "Which is entirely diff'rent."

"Entirely," Ratlin agreed. "Naked women're _always_ good luck."

_More than two hundred years,_ Abby thought, listening as the rest of the sailors enthusiastically confirmed that statement. _Men haven't changed a bit, have they?_

* * *

"THE CAPTAIN IS NOT UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES TO BE ADDRESSED AS:

Davy-Boy

Dave

David

Mr. Jones

Monsieur

Big Guy

My Dear Sefelapod"

It was a rather impressive list, carved deeply into the table in the mess hall. They were gathered around it, each silently trying to figure out who was responsible for which item on the list.

"A good try at spelling Cephalopod," Becca finally said, breaking the silence.

"I don't think Siren should see this."

"I don't think she should either," Angel affirmed. "We'll get in trouble."

"I was thinking more for her own good," Holly said, shaking her head. "Because he's in a pretty bad mood over this already, and you _know_ she'll have to correct his spelling."

* * *

********************************************************

AN: The Banana Spider's bite is even worse if you're a man. The neurotoxin in the venom can also cause priapism, which is a painful erection that lasts so long that it literally qualifies as a medical emergency because once it does go down, it may never come up again. (I am not making this up.) The possibilities for banana-related double entendres are just endless.


	26. Ch24: Take That, You Stupid Sea

DISCLAIMER: If I owned Disney, trust me, the movies would have been MUCH more historically accurate.

AN: This term is soon coming to an end! I have posted the application for the second term of the OFUM (go to my profile and find the Official Fanfiction University of the Caribbean 2 under my stories as the application is the first chapter.) Anyone who's interested in applying to be a student this time around, get your butts over there and sign up. That's about it, I think. Sorry for the inarticulateness. It's two in the morning. And inarticulateness is not a word. What should that be, lack of articulation? Is there a less formal way to say that?

~Siren

* * *

She was dreaming of shooting cheeseburgers in the mall with a pistol. She'd fire, then run across the tiled floors to where the dead cheeseburger lay and bite into it, bullet and all, then she'd sight on another one and do the same. The first few were right out there in the open, but then it became more of a challenge, trying to see if she could spot any more among the crowds of people who, with typical dream-logic, were going normally about their business. She had gotten onto the escalator to go search the upper floors for wild ice cream sundaes, still chewing the last mouthful of her seventh burger, when the person on the escalator behind her grabbed her shoulder and started shaking it.

"Abby, you need to get up!" Her eyes flew open and she choked on a mouthful of fabric. Spitting it out, she pushed herself up onto her arms and looked down at her sleeve, which she had been trying to eat in her sleep so enthusiastically that there were a couple small tears where her teeth had broken through. Wide-eyed, she looked up at Sarah, then further up at the visibly lighter water above them.

"We're going back up?" she asked hopefully, leaning back against the soft surface behind her and staring up towards the barely-visible sunlight.

"Yes. Only an hour and a half left and then we're freed from our service. We're being dropped off in Port Royal again. We were going to wake you up, but you looked so comfortable and she didn't seem to mind, so…"

"She who?" Abby asked, then froze and slowly turned her head to look behind her.

She had been sleeping snuggled up to the tip of one of the Kraken's tentacles resting on the ship's deck. A soft whimper escaped her lips and she slowly edged away from it.

"It's… all right, she really didn't seem to mind," Sarah said lamely. "Cause, I mean, if she did, it's not like she couldn't have moved it."

"Sarah?" Abby's voice trembled. "I wanna go home."

Maybe it was the not-eating, or the hundred hours of darkness and cold and nervousness, or the beatings she'd taken during the self-defense lessons catching up to her. She didn't know. But all the sudden, the entire thing felt like a sick, drug-influenced nightmare. She wrapped her arms around herself and rocked back and forth, trembling convulsively and squeezing her eyes closed, ignoring the sounds of voices around her and trying to will herself back into the shopping mall dream, back to the world of free-range cheeseburgers and oblivious strangers. She distantly felt herself being dragged somewhere, but ignored it, ignored everything for a long time until finally everything was dark and still and silent and she opened her eyes nervously. She was still underwater, and there were wooden planks beneath her, but she couldn't see anything, and there were no tentacles anywhere.

"Am I dreaming again?" she asked the silence hopefully.

"Ah, ye're back then, lass?" Abby blinked at the creaky-sounding voice, trying to identify it.

"W-Wyvern? I'm in the hold?"

"Aye. Hope ye ain't bothered by the dark. The teachery one said ye'd be calmer without the light. It bother ye? I can holler them back down with a lantern if so."

"No. No, the dark is good. I think I'd rather no one else come down here right now," she said shakily.

"So what shook ye so badly, lass?" Wyvern asked, his voice kind in the darkness.

"This, here, everything… I don't belong here! I'm not a pirate, I was never anything like a pirate! I want to watch TV and eat cereal and wear clean underwear!"

"All right," Wyvern said, sounding a little puzzled. "That's all?"

"I just don't belong here. I'm weak and pathetic and a failure at adventuring."

"Ye never did belong here, any of ye. Ye're livin' young women who've got no real evil in yer souls. O' course this place don't suit ye. Even us crewmates ain't here by choice, ye know. We're here because it's a step up from Hell. Not much of a step neither. Plain foolish to think you'd fit in here." Abby blinked, absorbing his words.

"So I'm not a coward?"

"Psh, o' course ye are. Most people are if it comes to that. That's why heroes are heroes, because normal folk, they snivel and cower and hope if they shuts their eyes all the scary bits'll go away. What d'ye need to be a hero for? Any family vendettas need to be settled, curses after ye, destinies to forge?"

"Not that I know of," she said softly, twisting her fingers around each other.

"Then there's no need to become somethin' ye ain't," Wyvern concluded logically. "The sea and the deep are big, black, ancient things. They've broken many a stout-hearted man before ye and will break more after ye're gone. Why d'ye think the crew o' this cursed ship's full o' anger and hate? It gets to them, too, the ceaseless dark and cold. Men were never meant to live under the water, trapped between life and death and eternity."

"I guess so. It's just that everyone else seems to be doing so much better than I am."

"Up until less'n an hour ago, you were doin' just as well as the best o' them. What was it spooked ye?"

"I woke up and found out I had been cuddling with the Kraken," Abby said miserably, shuddering.

"Cuddlin' with" *snerk* "the—sorry, lass…" Wyvern's voice cracked and he let loose with a rusty laugh. "The Kraken, that… that's rare, it is. Well, ye do have a story to tell, don't ye!"

"I guess," she replied, managing a small smile. "You know, it was actually pretty comfortable?"

They were still talking and laughing an hour later when suddenly, the water level in the cabin began to drop. Abby leapt to her feet.

"We're back, we're on the surface! ThankyouthankyougoodbyeWyvernIloveyou!" she shouted over her shoulder as she found the hatch in the dark after a moment of fumbling and flung it open, throwing herself through and twirling around in the sunlight. She was not the only one shouting and cheering, but she wasn't sure she'd have been able to stop even if the entire deck had been still and silent.

"It's air, it's air, I'm breathing air!" she chanted, bouncing up and down. She touched her neck and felt for the gills and found that they were gone. "Yesss! I'm not all fishy anymore! Woohoo!" The warmth of the sun felt wonderful, so wonderful. She ran up to Siren.

"Siren, guess what?" Her instructor was standing, basking in the sun with her eyes shut and her face turned up toward the light.

"Mmm?"

"I'm not a pirate. I'm a girly, neurotic coward with a weak stomach and fangirlish tendencies! Adventure confuses me, the mysteries of the deep ocean scare me, the characters pity me, and I am so totally okay with that because _I am not underwater anymore, bitches!" _she was grinning maniacally. "Yes! Take that, you stupid… sea!" she shouted at the ocean around the ship. Siren started laughing and opened her eyes to shake her head at Abby in disbelief.

"Well, I'm glad to see you're feeling better. Now come on, let's go hoist some sails so we can get on land even faster." Abby bounced and nodded an affirmative.

"Aye aye, captain!"

"Pardon?" a gruff voice snarled from behind her and Abby spun around to see Davy Jones giving her… well, pretty much the look you'd expect if you called anyone else Captain on his ship.

"You know, I even like you," she told him, beaming, then ran to help Angel with the fors'l, leaving him standing there, blinking, hat dripping in the sunlight.

"… Scurvy lil' tramp!" he yelled after her. "Belay that! No _dancin'!_"

Kat was the first one over the side and wading to the shore when they did get close enough, and threw herself to the ground and kissed the dirt dramatically, then pushed herself up onto her elbows and spat out a mouthful of sand and a small jellyfish, which she looked at, mystified, for a moment. Abby, who had been about to do the same thing, decided to hug a palm tree instead, then couldn't find one and after a few minutes of wildly looking around, settled for hugging herself.

For what could have been anywhere from five to twenty minutes was spent on the sand, wringing out hair and clothes (as much as was possible while still remaining dressed) and basking in the sun like bedraggled, overgrown reptiles, watching the seaweed-covered sails of the Dutchman vanish in the distance. It was Cate, who was standing in the sun and inspecting the extent of the rust damage who noticed the horses.

"Horses!" she said, pointing.

"Do people made of metal get sunstroke?" Siren asked sleepily without moving an inch from where she lay sprawled in the sand.

"No, seriously! There are two horses coming. One of them has a rider. In blue and a wig. Navy?"

"Great, _just_ what we need," Holly moaned. "I cannot, _will not_ deal with Beckett until someone feeds me something cooked. Anything. A cracker. One of Summer's apple muffins, anything!"

"I think they're back on the Pearl," Grace said, sitting up and shading her eyes, trying to see the approaching rider. "I know Barbossa was using a few of them as paperweights. I don't think that's Beckett. I just don't see him facing us without his little retinue to keep us in check."

"Admiral Norrington? Governor Swann?" Sarah asked wistfully. "Civilized people?"

"If it is Beckett, maybe we can cook him," Tierza told Becca reassuringly. "He's not as resourceful as Jack. He might not get away."

"I'm liking the sound of civilized people myself," Koneka said as dryly as could be accomplished while soaking wet with salt water.

"It's Norrington," Kat said, sitting back down and poking at the jellyfish she'd spat out earlier with a stick. It was a grayish-purple color.

"Seriously?" Siren asked, cracking her eyes open just a bit. "I wonder why."

"I thought I saw the Dutchman a bit ago," Norrington called out a second later as he dismounted a dozen yards away, unknowingly answering her question. "And I assumed since the Kraken took you off the Dauntless, that was where I'd find you. Is anyone hurt?"

"Wet, hungry, tired, filthy," Linsey replied. "Hurt, not so much."

"Well, I did bring something to eat and the things you left behind on the ship," the commodore said mildly, then his eyes widened as Siren gasped, jumped to her feet, ran over, and threw her arms around him in a ribcage-crushingly enthusiastic hug.

"You are a wonderful, wonderful person," she said fervently.

"Ah… let go?" Norrington managed, then carefully pried himself out of her grip, looking rather alarmed and disgusted as he tried to brush away the sand and sogginess she'd left on his uniform and gestured vaguely at the saddlebags the horses were carrying, which the students were already rushing to open.

"Bread!"

"Dry clothing!"

"My shoes!"

"Look at the pretty horses!"

There was a prolonged stretch of chaos and quarreling as no one could figure out which things were whose at first, and they finally settled down on the sand with their weapons beside them and munched on whatever they'd been able to grab before the food ran out and passing around the aleskins. Nina had come up with the rather clever idea of leading the two horses a bit away from the group and changing clothes using the horses' bodies as a screen, which was working rather better for the people who ended up with the black horse than the brown, which had decided what it really wanted to do just then was _wander over there_. Norrington had politely averted his eyes from the general area where this was going on, and was trying to speak to Siren about some sort of plans for after the finals while staying physically as far away from her as possible.

"Oh for heavens sake," Siren finally snapped, turning to him. "I just said you were wonderful. I am not going to rape you!"

"I don't believe anyone had implied that you would," Norrington said politely, though he looked relieved at such a definite anouncement of it.

"And certainly not while you're wearing that wig," Siren continued, making him choke on a mouthful of ale.

"What the devil is it with you future females? I'll have you know that _normal _young women find a well-attired man in a wig very attractive," he replied indignantly.

"Yep, seemed to do wonders for Elizabeth," Kelsey said sarcastically.

_"Pirates_ are apparently what do it for Elizabeth," Norrington replied tersely. "I rather doubt the wig had anything to do with it."

"Forget about wigs for a second! I'm sorry I mentioned it! So is there any way we can…"

"It's not possible. I refuse to allow you to smuggle pirates past the port authorities yet again. Do you have any idea what I risked to do so once? I am certainly not going through that again simply so that you can have this silly 'graduation ceremony' of yours. Hold it at sea. Hold it on Tortuga. Hold it in Australia for all I care. But you will not be letting pirates back into Port Royal."

" Fine.," Siren gave in. "Is everyone dressed in something dry? Got your shoes and weapons? Then lets go to the inn and get some rest. You've a couple more classes in the next few days, and then it's Finals time."

That night at the inn, Abby slept like a log, bedbugs and all.

"Today we are having a very important class on character pairings." The students were gathered on the chairs and settee in the large upstairs drawing room of the Swann mansion, feeling cleaner, drier, and more rested than they had in months. Even Siren had given up the added authority of standing while she lectured to curl up in a cushioned armchair. The bright Caribbean sun speared through the half-open curtains to illuminate particles of dust in the air, and after weeks of hard decks and salt water and wind, the elegance and damask drapery of the room was almost claustrophobic.

"I'll start with the cardinal rule of any pairing: don't go out-of-character. And I'm not just talking about the pair in question, I'm talking about all the characters. Don't just wave a magic wand and turn any other contender for a character's affections into a complete douchebag so that they have an excuse to turn to their 'real' soulmate. You are not the douchebag fairy. If you really believe those two characters belong together, you should not need to take anyone out of character to accomplish it."

"Likewise," Siren continued, "Falling in love should not make anyone go out-of-character. Yes, people sometimes act differently when they're in love. But they act differently in specific ways. They may be unusually happy or unusually moody. They may lie to make the person they love happy, or because they think the lie will make that person love them more. What they won't do is start thinking and talking differently. If this is a person who doesn't normally talk about their feelings, falling in love isn't going to change that. If they're normally inarticulate, they will not turn into a Hallmark card—if anything, they'll get _more_ inarticulate. If they don't trust easily and don't have many close friends, they're going to take a very long time to fall in love, and an even longer amount of time to admit it."

"And if it's Jack, he's never going to love _any_ woman as much as he loves the sea and the Pearl," Summer added vehemently.

"It is also true that a romance is not going to make you love the things you already love any less," Siren said with a nod to Summer. "Now let's talk about logic. If you are going to pair up two characters in any serious sense, they have to like each other and they have to respect each other. If you really want to pair up two characters who to all appearances seem to hate each other in the movies, you have to do one of two things. One, you contrive an incident in which they discover something that makes them no longer hate each other. Two, you come up with a believable explanation of circumstances that during the events of the movies forced them to act as if they did hate each other when really they didn't. I must add to this a specific warning: make sure that if you do use option one, you address the _real reason_ that they hated each other. For instance, if Admiral Norrington finds out that Captain Jack Sparrow is really a great guy and donates to charity and saves dying kittens, that does not change the fact that Jack is a pirate and Norrington hates pirates. If you really want the two of them to be together, you're either going to have to engineer some set of circumstances that will cause Norrington to completely change his mind about the whole pirate issue or just accept that this is not a relationship that's going to work and move on to a different pairing.

"Now, notice that I am not going to tell you that you are not allowed to use that or _any_ pairing, even in the cases of pairings that make me want to _vomit blood_. Because if you are able to make it work in a believable way, without going out-of-character, then you have earned the right to use that pairing."

"So you're okay with slash pairings and stuff?" Becca asked, looking surprised. "You don't think that counts as out-of-character to begin with?"

"If it's not considered out-of-character for, say, Will and Anamaria to get together even though they showed no sign of attraction to each other in the movies, then the same goes for any two characters. That's how I see it anyway. I mean, it's not like anyone's sexual orientation was mentioned one way or another in any of the movies. I think being a Disney character is kind of like being in the army: Don't ask, don't tell.

"Another thing a lot of writers screw up is the sex scene if there is one. The easiest way to handle it is the fade-out method, where just as things are about to get graphic, the scene fades to black and resumes again afterwards or the next morning. But if you're really determined to write a sex scene, please, and I can't stress this enough, please be aware of what is and isn't physically possible. There are some things you cannot do in a hammock. There are some things you cannot do for very long. There are some things you cannot do without lubrication. Make sure everything you're describing is realistic. If you're a virgin, find someone who isn't to beta read the scene for you. You also need to carefully consider what words or euphemisms you're using for certain actions and body parts, because you don't want your reader to crack up laughing in the middle of the scene."

"And then there's the obvious result of sex, which is…" Siren paused, looking at them expectantly.

"Babies," said Grace just as Kat said,

"Orgasms."

Siren laughed. "I was referring to pregnancy. Now, there were a couple semi-reliable means of birth control available in the 18th century, but they were mainly used by whores. It was pretty much assumed that good girls didn't know about such things, so generally even if they did know, they would have considered it unthinkable to actually use them. So it's pretty much inevitable that unless your character is the kind of unashamed and experienced woman of the world who actually would employ these methods, frequent sex is going to result in pregnancy. And regardless of how independent and headstrong your female character is, keep in mind that this is the 18th century we're talking about. If she's pregnant and recieves a proposal of marriage, she is not going to turn it down to raise the child as a single parent, even if the proposal comes from a man who she doesn't love. It's just not how things were done back then. There is one option for sex without pregnancy, however, and that is that one of your characters is infertile. However the tradeoff there is that if they can't have kids, they can't have kids, period. Depending on your plot, this may or may not be something you want." Siren shrugged. "Your call."

"Any other rules?" Nina wanted to know.

"Yes. If it's a long story, it needs a non-romantic subplot, or the romance itself needs to be the subplot rather than the main one," Siren answered promptly. "Pirate ships are not pieces of scenery. They don't just sail from nowhere to nowhere with the occasional stop at Tortuga and no apparent trade or battle ever taking place. If they're on a ship, other things are going to be happening that have nothing to do with the romance."

"I think we've learned that one pretty well by now," Tierza said wryly.

"I certainly hope you have," Elizabeth said, appearing in the doorway and startling everyone who'd had their back to it. "It's two hours past noon, you know. Shouldn't you be at the smithy? Will said you had a class with him."

Siren let her head fall back against the wooden back of the chair with a painful-sounding thunk. "I knew I'd forgotten something."

The class with Will was fun—Abby realized that she'd never really noticed when the swordfighting lessons had become fun, they just had at some point. She and the other students had certainly not learned as fast as she'd hoped—she was still and, she guessed, always would be, at a beginner's skill level. Still, even though she knew Will was holding back, it gave her a strange thrill not to be disarmed within the first few seconds of sparring with him when it was her turn to be tested at the end of the class. She knew how to look at the maneuvers now, and she suspected that when she got back home, reading the battle scenes in her old story would be deeply embarrassing.

_Her old story._ Had she really just thought of it as her old story? She'd only just finished it before she'd left! But with everything she now knew—with her experience of actually working on a ship and living in the time period—she would never have written anything like "The Sparrow and The Hawk." This made her feel oddly homesick… she longed for the feeling of the keyboard beneath her fingertips. The stories she could write now!


	27. Ch25: Final Exams and Graduation

DISCLAIMERS: In case you haven't yet figured it out, I'm playing with other people's toys here. Fanfiction university concept © Camilla Sandman. Pirates © Disney. Students © themselves.

AN: So, here it is, the final chapter... *cue dramatic music* I've had so much fun with this project and I've learned TONS. I love you all and hope you follow the sequel as it continues to second term. Applications are still being accepted, and the application form can be found at... just go to my profile and find the story, it's got the same title as this one only with the number 2 after it.

There is now an OFUC website up as well to house several specific lessons that I never found a way to work into the curriculum. More stuff will be put up there as I find the time/energy/motivation. Any suggestions are welcome. So far I have a couple guides to 18th century language up that I strongly recommend you read. Some very common words were used entirely differently in the 1700's. And I went through an entire 18th century dictionary cover-to-cover to put the lists together for you since there were no other guides even remotely like what I was looking for-- and then of course, I realized there was no possible way to squish all that information into the final chapter. There's also some of the main links I used for my research and the Field Guide to PotC Sues, and probably something else I've forgotten about. The formatting is giving me some problems, so just ignore the occasional weird indentation or strangely-sized text. You can find it at http:// pirateuniversity. webs. com/, only take the spaces out.

* * *

The Black Pearl sailed unseen into the Port Royal harbor, silent as the darkness, to meet the small canoe that rowed towards it. When the two crafts touched, if someone had been very close by, they might have seen a slight figure climbing up the side of the ship, carrying a stack of papers under one arm.

_Two hours later…_

"Dude! Dude, okay, listen to this one," Siren managed to say between bursts of laughter. "God, I love these trick questions. We were geniuses to put them in." She wiped the tears off her face and took another swig of rum. With her around the table in the mess hall sat Jack, Barbossa, Marty, and Anamaria, reading, grading, and passing around the students' completed final exams.

'"Is it necessary to splice the mainbrace before luffing up? Why or why not?' and the answer they gave is 'No, but it helps…' and I don't know if that's right or wrong." Siren was grinning.

"S'pose havin' a drink don't hurt," Marty said with a shrug.

"It is absolutely correct," Jack declared seriously, then went back to grading the portion of the test he had written, which he was insisting no one else touch.

"Idiots," Barbossa scoffed, slamming down his mug. "I remember a day when it'd be a whippin' for any fool who was caught drinkin' on duty. On 'is own time, a mate can do what 'e pleases, but a ship don't get manned properly if the crew be three sheets to the wind."

"Well, I'm markin' it correct," Jack told his former first mate with a smirk, just to be annoying.

"Then I'm markin' it incorrect twice," Barbossa snapped.

"I wonder, will the students be able to figure out their scores when the two of them are through?" Anamaria asked Siren under her breath.

"Not a clue. Please take the rum away from me."

"'Ey, does the monkey count as a supply?" Marty wanted to know, waving one test paper in the air.

"What?" Siren blinked at him.

"Question five. 'There's a leak in the 'old. Explain 'ow to repair it in the middle of the open sea using only the basic supplies already on the ship.' The monkey, is 'e a supply?" Siren chewed on her lip, then turned to Barbossa.

"Your monkey, your call."

"Hey! As he is named after myself, I think that should give me a certain influence in this debate," Jack interrupted.

"You'll just say the opposite of what 'e says, Capt'n," Anamaria told him, one dark eyebrow raised, passing him the bottle of rum that Siren had been drinking too much of.

"Thanks, luv. Of course I will, where's the fun in agreein' with 'im?" Jack demanded, eyeing the level of rum left in the bottle and then taking a swig himself.

"The monkey is not a supply," Barbossa said meanwhile, ignoring the others. "'e is a member of the crew with all the rights that implies."

"What, the monkey gets a vote?" Siren asked, taken aback.

"O' course. An' being the wise and prudent creature 'e is, 'e always seconds my vote," Barbossa said with a satisfied smile.

"Monkey… not… a… supply…." Marty muttered to himself as he wrote under the faulty answer.

"Captain, what kind of questions do you call these?" Siren asked, her voice suddenly sharpening as she turned the page.

"Er… what's the answer you're wanting?" Jack asked innocently.

"What beverage is most important to bring on a long voyage? What is likely to be found inside a rum bottle? What does R-U-M spell?" She looked up at Jack indignantly.

"There's the number of questions you wanted. And there's even a trick question in there," Jack said, making his 'virtuous face' as Siren continued to read the questions he'd written.

"What is mixed with water to make grog? What should Captain Jack Sparrow be given for his birthday?.... _whoa. _She didn't answer rum to that once." Siren silently pushed the exam paper across the table to Jack, who promptly choked on his mouthful of rum and very nearly sprayed it on the test. Marty and Anamaria both leaned in to read over his shoulders and started snickering. Barbossa wore the look of one determined not to admit the slightest curiosity.

"I still think the Navy one is the best," Anamaria said with a smirk.

"What's the Navy one?" Marty wanted to know. "I 'aven't got that far yet."

"Are members of the Royal Navy allowed to flog the oggin while on duty?" Siren asked, trying and failing to keep a straight face.

"Me favorite answer I saw to that one was 'Only if they wash their hands afterward,'" Barbossa chuckled.

"Washin' their hands after sailin', pointless thing to do," Jack scoffed.

"That's not what the people who didn't study assume it means," Siren told him.

"Or after that either," Jack said idly, causing Siren to freeze in horror and struggle to remember whether or not she'd shaken his hand at any point. She knew she'd certainly taken more than one item he'd handed her. The other three pirates cracked up laughing again at the expression on her face as Jack continued grading his test questions in blissful unawareness.

"I need more rum…" Siren finally managed to say in a small voice, "But… he's touched it."

"Me trick question, I didn't tell ye me trick question," Jack said, still absorbed in his papers. "It's the last one."

Siren turned back to the page, read the final question, then wrinkled her brow.

"What valuable substance is made from nothing but the byproducts of crystallizing sugar cane? How is that a—"

"Because the answer isn't rum. It's molasses," Jack announced smugly.

"But isn't rum also—"

"Ye need to add water to make it ferment proper," the captain reminded her, then paused and looked down at the paper before him. "'Nothing but,' it says. How d'ye spell metaphysical?" Siren gave him a disoriented look.

"You're grading a rum test. I'd think the more appropriate question would be, _why?" _

_

* * *

_

If they had had a soundtrack, it would have been something ceremonial and celebratory sounding, with rhythmic drumbeats and a trumpet fanfare, but they did not have a soundtrack. They had to settle for the soft background murmur of the wind and water and the sound of Siren and the Captain arguing in lowered voices in the background while they and the rest of the Pearl's crew stood on deck, waiting.

"… thought you said you had them… we can't graduate them properly without…"

"… ye're the one in charge of all the borin' bits, think o' somethin' yerself!"

"… this is why you get slapped so often, you …"

"… think I have an idea…"

The two of them disappeared down a hatch, still whispering. The soundtrack continued to not play. The sound of Barbossa tapping one foot was the only thing to break the silence.

"Well, this is anticlimactic," Becca said finally.

"She's not allowed to slap him, is she?" Angel asked a little worriedly.

"I don't think so," Tierza said with a shrug. "Besides, what good would it do? Has slapping Jack ever done anyone any good? He certainly doesn't change."

"That's _Captain_ Jack, if you please," Jack said as he climbed back up the hatch with what looked like a broken mug in one hand. "And I have just saved the day, once again." He gestured elaborately with it as he walked across the deck towards them, Siren following him and looking like she wanted to argue with this. "As your degrees in fanfiction writing have been unavoidably detained on account of us being unaware of their current location, you will be receiving something even better."

"Gold?" Holly asked with interest.

"A kiss?" Kelsey looked wistfully at Jack, who announced,

"Souveniers!"

They blinked at him.

"You see, just this mornin', I found where that accursed _monkey_ has been 'idin' away all the li'l things he has stolen! So from that stash shall come your souveniers."

"Will Kat please come forward," Siren commanded, and Kat stepped up. Barbossa unsheathed his sword and lightly tapped her once on each shoulder with it.

"You are now declared an officially certified fanfiction writer," he pronounced.

"And in recognition for your bravery in battle, you are awarded…" Jack fished through the contents of the mug… "One… piece of a broken dagger blade. Don't know why 'e stole that. P'raps because it's shiny. See? Shiny. Here you go." He handed it to her with a flourish. Kat bit back a grin.

"Thank you, Captain."

"Linsey, please come forward." Linsey bowed her head as Barbossa dubbed her a fanfiction writer and then stepped up to Jack and Siren eagerly.

"In lieu of your degree, you are awarded the half of a broken pencil that has an eraser on it," Siren told her solemnly, taking it out of the mug and putting it in Linsey's hands, "In hopes that it will be used to eradicate all traces of Sue-ness from your character." Linsey looked sheepish as she stepped back to stand with the other students.

"If Summer will now come forward…" Siren began, and Summer went to stand before Barbossa to be dubbed, then practically bounced up to get her souvenier.

"And you must take this cork from a rum bottle," Jack said, giving her a cork, "In appreciation of you havin' bought me rum, which was an excellent thing to do and should be done entirely more often." Summer took the cork and bowed to them, looking smug.

"Holly." Once Holly had been dubbed, Siren pulled a coin out of her pocket. "You are the lucky recipent of this tuppence that I found in the bilges, in the hopes that no character in your fics will ever bathe in bilgewater again." Holly grinned, tossed it into the air and caught it, and tucked it into her own pocket.

Becca was next.

"And for you, I 'ave… a piece of driftwood that looks a bit like a kraken tentacle… well, it does, if you 'old it upside down, then squint at it funny," Jack insisted, demonstrating, when Becca looked doubtful. "As encouragement for you to continue settin' the excellent example of writin' about the kraken instead of writin' about me goin' all gooey and romantic—" he grimaced as he spoke—"over unnatural women." He tossed her the driftwood, which she caught, tilting her head as she looked at it, trying to see a tentacle. He shooed her away as Siren called the next name, which was Sarah's. She stood very straight as Barbossa tapped each of her shoulders with his sword, then walked over to Jack and Siren, looking curious.

"And you are awarded a piece of braid that we think fell off Will's hat at some point," Siren said, pulling it out of the mug and offering it to the younger woman, "For being the only Will fangirl not to try to grope him at some point or other during the term." Sarah giggled and took it.

"Grace," Siren said next, and Grace stepped forward to be dubbed a fanfiction writer, giving Barbossa a shy smile.

"And for you, we seem to 'ave…" Jack fished around in the mug again, picked something out, and made a face at it. "Whose is this? Is that… I think it's a button from yer coat," he told Barbossa. Barbossa took in the way Grace was looking at him and smiled slightly.

"Let the lass have it."

"All right. You are 'ereby awarded one button off of the coat of a vile piece of scum and a known mutineer, er… as a reminder," Jack improvised wildly, "To always keep yer clothing buttoned, unless of course you're takin' it off, or 'aven't entirely gotten it on yet, or it's very hot out." He presented Grace with the button, which she took, laughing.

"For Koneka," Siren said. She peered into the mug, shaking it a bit as Barbossa dubbed the student, then pulling something out. "The other half of Linsey's pencil. Use it to write something since you are now fully qualified to do so."

Kelsey was next, and Jack glanced into the mug.

"No… no, that won't do… that's fer the other one… Bugger. Oh well." He reached back and with a bit of effort, removed a filthy glass bead from one of his dreadlocks, handing it to Kelsey, who took it with a delighted squeal as the rest of the Jack fangirls watched jealously. "In recognition of your ability to save rum,"Jack told her solemnly. "Now, no more silliness from you."

"Aye, aye, captain," Kelsey told him and spun around, clutching the bead tightly to her chest. Next was Nina, to whom Siren gave a misshapen but rather interesting seashell, "In the hope your characters will never be normal or average and always be extraordinary." Cate was dubbed next, with a slight metallic clank as the steel of the sword met the steel of her shoulders, and was given a bent nail by Jack.

"It fits, 'cause ye're metal, see?"

When it was Angel's turn, Siren called a halt to the proceedings so she could get something from belowdecks, and returned carrying the undead sponge, which she had retrieved from the Dauntless earlier that day.

"This is for you," she told Angel with a proud smile, "In honor of the way your creator has cleaned up the inconsistencies and Sueishness in your life history." Angel looked a little uncertain and Siren patted her on the shoulder. "You'll find out when you get back."

When Tierza was called up and Barbossa tapped each of her shoulders in turn, she burst into sentimental tears, to everyone's surprise. Barbossa fumbled in his pocket for a moment and handed her a handkerchief, which she took and wiped her eyes with, giving him a tearful but grateful smile.

"Well, I s'pose that's yer souvenier right there, then," Jack said with a shrug. "Good thing, too, it was that or a bit o' chewed 'ardtack. Keep the 'anky, then."

"I'll treasure it," Tierza said with a sniffle, hugging it to herself. Then, a second later, in a less happy voice, as she got a closer look at her prize. "It's got a clump of dried snot in it!"

"Well, it's a handkerchief, isn't it?" Angel asked, giving her a weird look. "What did you _think_ they were used for?"

"And finally, Abby," Siren spoke over their voices, giving them an exasperated look. When Barbossa had dubbed her, she stepped up to receive her "degree" and Jack smiled wickedly at her.

"Ye're now the proud owner of this fish skull, as a reward fer 'avin' braved the mysteries of the deep despite bein' absolutely 'orrified of 'em up-close-like." Abby gingerly took the fish skull from his hand and smiled when he winked at her.

She'd miss Jack—in fact, she'd miss all the pirates. Not the idealized versions of them that she'd had in her head before, but the confusing, unpredictable, screwed up people they'd turned out to be in real life. She'd also miss some things about Port Royal—certainly not the inns or the bathroom facilities, but she found she'd grown fond of the sounds of the market and the smell of the sea. And she'd never have the chance to be the captain of a ship, or to be shipwrecked on an island, or to make out with Edward, who she'd managed to see briefly earlier that morning and say an awkward goodbye to before they left the harbor.

Going home, though… going home would be good. As the storyverse began to fade from around her and the surface beneath her feet changed from wooden planks to soft carpeting, she took one last breath of the sea air and held it in her lungs as her room slowly appeared around her. Glancing down at herself, she was startled to see that her clothes looked exactly the same as they had before she left, without any of the stains and tears and dirt they'd acquired in the past weeks. To her relief, the fish skull she'd been given was still in her hand, but her hands themselves were clean and uncallused, and when she looked at the clock, she saw that only a few minutes had passed since she had signed the admission form. It was only about nine o' clock at night, and she had a head full of knowledge and stories waiting to be written.

She sat down at her computer and started to type.


End file.
